Hooked on Power
by VictorianChik
Summary: Capt Hook finds a new way to deal with his archenemy. However, the more he interacts with Peter, the more he finds that his life and the island begin to change, especially when the woman he loved reappears in his dreams. Contains spanking of preteens.
1. Chapter 1 An Unpleasant Encounter

AN: I just had this idea after reading the book and watching the movie that came out a few years ago. I know my opening is ratherlong, but that is because I can't figure out if this is a short story or the first chapter of a long story. Tell me what you think.

Oh, and I plan to keep writing on the Harry Potter as well. Just took a short break. As with that story, if you don't like this sort of thing, don't read and do not review.

And it's not slash, just to assure everyone.

And I don't own this or make any money.

Anything else? On with the show.

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Captain James Hook settled back in his chair and absentmindedly lit his long cigar. The end flared to life, and the scent of strong tabacco filled the cabin. He breathed in the smell and sighed heavily. He was running low on cigars – only a few dozen left in his private store-box hidden under the third floor board from the door. He had lucked upon them entirely by chance. The brat had flown back with them, probably thinking that the bright red and blue boxes were filled with candy. Hook, on one of his solitary journeys around the island, had found the cigars spilled on the ground under a large tree, the boxes thrown aside in haste.

One cigar had a small bite taken out of it – Hook though with a cold smile that the boy had tried to eat the cigars. He must have had a very nasty shock. But save for that one cigar, the rest were perfectly fine. Hook had packed them back in the boxes and smuggled them onto the ship, hidden under his long, elegant coat. Not that he thought his sailors would try to steal them – they feared him far too much. But that kept Hook from having to count the cigars every single day to make sure he wasn't missing any, and it kept the pirates from any unnecessary punishment. Oh, Hook still whipped the dogs from time to time, just to remind them who was still boss. But other than that, no need for extra misery.

Hook restlessly brushed his dark curls off his forehead. His hair, glorious and long, had once been his pride and joy, the envy of all his rivals, the toast of every young lady. Now, though, it only served to annoy him. Once in a fit of rage, he had grabbed his razor blade and hacked at all his hair until it lay on the floor and he stood before the mirror, shorn short. Yet, the next morning when he awoke, it had all regrown. After screaming for a few moments and shouting profanity that would make anyone else blush, Hook had stormed about his ship. He ordered all his sailors to double their efforts in the search for Pan, and poor Smee got things thrown at him every hour for the rest of the day. The poor fat pirate kept wiping his glasses and tripping over things as he attempted to pacify his captain's temper. Finally, around sunset, Smee had brought Hook a drink of malt whiskey. Hook had swallowed it, and the next thing he knew he was waking up the next morning in his bed. He suspected Smee had drugged him, but the stammering man came in with a breakfast of poached eggs and steaming coffee, announcing that the search for Pan was going full-sails ahead. Hook had decided not to plunge his hook into the man to rip his throat out – instead he had taken breakfast and muttered threats against the pirates.

It was all so . . . bad form. Very, very bad form. The world's most feared pirate chasing after that imp. That child who kept insisting that he was the sun, and moon, and be-all, end-all. So very annoying. That stupid crowing and flying instead of keeping his feet on the ground like a normal person. Cigar tucked between his teeth, Hook figured the curve of his hook with his one good hand. He did miss his other hand at times. The hook did wonders to scare everyone he ever met. His sailors were fearful that he would cut them with it. Smee paid extra attention to keep it polished and clean, but Hook could see the fat pirate tremble and sweat as he ran the soft cloth over it. Often Smee would mutter things under his breath that sounded like "Be the death of me, it will. I'll get it in the end," as he worked frantically.

As for the children on the island, except for the brat, they were all terrified of it all well. Only a day or two ago, Hook had come upon a little Lost boy in the woods, a new one he guessed, though he never bothered keeping track of them. This new boy, all flying curls and small limbs, had tumbled out of the bushes and rolled to a stop beside Hook's black boots. The child had looked up and frozen.

Hook, never one to disappoint a captive audience, had smiled cruelly and slowly raised his hook into view. The child had stared at that hook, paralyzed with fear. Then he had given a small squeak and began running for his life. Hook had watched the tiny boy crash through the underbrush, shaking the leaves as he scrambled away from the dreaded pirate.

Hook had thought about taking pursuit. He probably could have caught the scamp in a matter of seconds and hoisted him up in the air with his good hand. Then he could have held up his hook threateningly and ordered the child to reveal the location of Pan's hideout or else. Hook probably would not have had to even actually torture the child – the boy would have confessed all he knew as he stared at the hook. But at such a young age, the child might not know the exact location. Beside, Hook did not run after children. His dogs would – they would chase down a boy or animal at Hook's orders. But Hook considered running after children bad form, and so he had let the boy go.

It was really too bad. As he sat by his desk smoking, Hook could have used someone to torment right about then. Not really pain – just good, old-fashioned fear that made his sailors hurry to obey him and the children run away in panic. Instead, he was in his quarters, all alone with nothing to occupy his time. Maybe he should hope that the brat would bring back some books and leave them behind so Hook could do a bit of reading. He had over a hundred books on the shelves of his cabin, but he had already read them all at least five times. They could always sail around the island again. The island was bigger than it looked, and it would take his ship at least three days to reach the other side. But the other side would be no different, and Hook knew he could not get off the sea of the island. He had tried sailing towards the horizon and the ship would appear to be leaving the island, but then it would stop and refuse to go anymore. Hook sighed again and glanced out his window. This never growing older business was quite tiresome. At first, when he had awoken on the island, with his entire ship and crew moved with him, and the brat had told them that they would all never grow old, never die, Hook had elated. But then he realized there was nothing on the island beside a handful of Indians, animals, and silly fairies. Certainly no women to tempt him or gold to capture. It was then that he tried to get the brat to take them back. Then the brat had cut off his hand.

Perhaps it had been as accident. The brat had picked up one of his swords and began waving it viciously. Hook had been both annoyed and worried the brat would hurt himself and had put up a hand to demand that the child stop playing around. It was then that he had lost his hand. Weeks of pain and being fit for the hook, and Hook had declared war.

The brat still laughed and flew about with that careless attitude, as if he could not be bothered with Hook's demand to get off the island. The brat thought himself so young, so boyish and childish, but Hook knew differently. The brat had visited earth too many times. The hours he had spent there – listening to stories, stealing things, flying around rooftops – they had all added up, and he no longer looked like a boy of six. He was beginning to resemble a child of eleven or twelve, and his beautiful blond locks had taken on a dark sheen. A few hundred more visits, and puberty would start.

Hook smiled coldly. Even now, he could imagine the screaming as the boy realized that he was getting older. Delightful thought.

"We got him!" a voice cried out from the main deck.

Hook glared in the direction of the closed door. The crew was always playing such ridiculous games such as pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey with Smee as the donkey. Smee would suffer as the sailors stuck long coils of rope to his backside with tar, and Hook grew weary of his complaining later that the tar was so hard to get out of his clothes. "We got him, Captain!" another voice cheered.

Frowning, Hook stood up from his large chair. Games were one thing, but he refused to be involved in their asinine frivolity.

"Captain," Smee burst in without knocking, a flogging offence in Hook's eyes, "Captain, we got him. We caught Peter Pan."

Hook's blue eyes stared at the short, plump man for a moment. Then he smiled, his lips curved in delectable cruelty. "You did?"

"Yes, sir," Smee gleefully announced, wriggling with delight. "Caught him napping in a tree. One of the men threw a net over him. Tied him up proper and brought him here. Old Bart threw water on him to wash off all that nasty fairy dust. His little tinker tots was nowhere to been seen, though he called for her, quite loud and pitifully, he did. Put up a fight when we neared the ship. But we'll bring him on deck, if it please the captain."

"My pleasure is your pleasure," Hook said loftily. But his heart was hammering, and he felt like his blood was on fire with the prospect of revenge.

Yet, to show good form, he stepped slowly towards the door and made his way with ease towards the railing of the upper deck. Below, he could see most of the crew on the main deck, all facing the gangplank.

"Bring the prisoner on board!" Smee called out. "Captain wished to make his acquaintance."

A strange procession made its way up the gangplank. Two fiercesome pirates made their way up first, leading behind them a small figure covered with a net wrapped tightly with rope and held between the first two pirates and the two more pirates that were pushing the bound captive along. Hook could not see his face, but he guessed that the brat was struggling and fighting the pirates the whole way.

The group marched up the gangplank and stopped on the main deck. The pirates all jeered at the bound figure, but Smee shouted, "Prisoner awaits your order, Captain."

Hook smiled, grinned as wide as he could. "Please, Mr. Smee, invite our guest into my cabin so I can give him a proper welcome."

A groan rose from the pirates – they all had wanted to see a bit of violence and blood on the deck. But Smee shouted out the orders.  
As the bound figure was dragged up the stairs, Hook finally caught a glimpse of his face. The boy was still fighting, twisting around in the ropes, but in vain. His face was very red, but he said nothing.

The pirates shoved the brat into Hook's quarters, still covered with the net and ropes.

"Shall we hold him for you, sir?" Smee asked, pushing his spectacles back on his nose so he could better see their new prisoner. "Don't want him to get free before you can kill him?"

The bundle of ropes shook vigorously, trying to get free. But Hook just shook his head.

"No, no, I can handle our young guest by myself. Please untie him and then leave us."

They did so, and left, closing the door behind them. Hook languidly walked to the door and locked it with a brass key. He put the key in his breast pocket and regarded his new captive.

The brat stood on the carpet, breathing hard as his eyes darted about looking for an escape. He wore his usual garb of rags and leaves, but the clothes looked more torn than usual, and the brat had several scratches and bruises about his shoulders and legs. Obviously, he had put up quite a fight when captured.

"Ah, Peter Pan," Hook noted. "So good of you to drop by. To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Let me go, Hook," the brat ordered. "I haven't done anything."

"Tut, tut," Hook shook his head. "How quickly we forget. You remember this?" He held up his hook.

Peter stared at it, as if he was trying to remember how the hook got there. Stupid boy – couldn't remember his own handiwork. Then finally remembrance dawned upon him.

"I did that," the boy announced. Then, proudly and triumphantly, "I cut off your hand and threw it to the crocodile. I beat you, you silly codfish. I'm invincible, I'm the world's greatest boy."

"Yes," Hook smiled, running his hook over his trimmed moustache, "and now you've been caught. Your greatest enemy has you in his clutches."

"You don't scare me!" the brat crowed. He reached for his waist where he kept his little dagger. But his fingers closed around open air. Panicked, he looked down. "Where's my dagger?"

"Ah, not so brave now, are we?" Hook observed. He knew his men must have removed it when they caught him.

The smug look dropped from the boy's face. "You – you can't. I'm unarmed, and it's not fair."

"Fair?" Hook lifted his eyebrows. "You wish to talk about what's fair? Losing your hand is not fair. Being stuck on a cursed island without women or cities or anything important is not fair. Having to put up with a bunch of skinny, smart-mouthed brats is not fair."

Peter Pan looked around him desperately. He stepped towards the cabinet, hoping to find a weapon of sort some when Hook stopped him. Hook pulled out his pistol and pointed it right at the brat's head. "Not one step farther, or I'll paint my cabin wall with your blood.

Peter froze and looked into the barrel of the gun fearfully.

"That's right," Hook grinned with malice. "I have you now. And I plan to repay you for all the misery you've brought upon me. Come here."

Peter did not move, just watched Hook and the gun. Hook pulled back the cock threateningly. "Now."

The brat swallowed, his throat constricting. He took one step towards the pirate captain. "I'm not afraid of you," the boy said with false bravado. "You don't scare me. Not now, not ever. You're just a coward. I'm not scare of you."

But Hook could see the boy's hands trembling, and he was pressing his lips together very hard.

"You're not scare?" Hook asked. "You should be. Do you have any idea what I plan to do with you?"

"Kill me," the brat cried out, but he was shaking even more.

"Not yet," Hook told him. "When I'm done with you, maybe. Do you have any idea of the tortures I know, of the misery you can suffer without ever losing conscious? Days, weeks, months – slow, slow torture until you can't scream or beg for death."

The brat's eyes were huge, but suddenly he straightened to his full height (which didn't reach Hook's shoulders) and proclaimed, "You can't hurt me. You're just a big bully of a man with only one hand! I fought you once and hundred times, and I can win again. I'll fight you and win – yes, I will! Maybe this time, I'll throw your other hand to the croc or even your whole arm! No one beats the great Peter Pan, no one, not ever."

Tucking the gun into his waistband, Hook lunged forward and grabbed a handful of those dark bland curls. Peter cried out in pain and tried to fight him off. But Hook was much bigger and stronger, and without his dagger or the ability to fly, Peter could only squirm to get free. Hook's hold on his hair was tight and nearly unbearable, and when the pirate captain pulled him towards the back of the cabin, Peter had no choice but to follow.

Hook felt that it was almost too easy with him having the gun and Pan with no weapon of any sort. The pirate cheered inwardly that once and for all, he knew his enemy was just a boy. Not a fantastical wonder, or strange demon, just a scrawny boy with a knife and a fairy.

Hook wasn't sure exactly what he was planning to do, but he found himself sitting down in one of his chairs (one without arms) and pulling the boy towards him. Pan struggled, reaching for anything that he could use to pull away, but Hook overpowered him easily. He flung the boy facedown other his left knee and then pinned the boy's legs together in between his own. That took care of the boy's lower limbs. He was thrashing about with his arms, hammering little fists into the chair and the side of Hook's left thigh. With the arm with the hook, Hook pressed his torso down and tried to hold him still.

Pan was frantic to get free; being immobilized took his terror to an entirely new level. Hook placed the cold steel curve of his hook against the bare back of the boy's neck. Immediately, the brat choked out something between a sob and a whimper.  
Hook knew it could all be over. All he had to do was sink the sharp tip of his hook into the boy's neck and rip out his spine. The boy would be dead in a matter of minutes without too much blood spilt. Then it would all be over.

"You coward," Peter Pan choked out. "You ugly, stupid coward."

That did it. Hook raised his right hand and brought his open palm crashing down on the brat's bottom with a resounding _Thwap_!

The boy jumped, making a startled gasp.

Hook drank in the sound, feeling the boiling blood rushing through his veins cool the tiniest bit. He raised his hand again, very high, and brought it down even harder.

"Ow!" Peter cried out. "Stop that!"

Hook smiled with victory and gave the boy another smack and then other. The boy jumped with both smacks and whined for Hook to stop. But Hook did not stop. He began to spank the brat in earnest.

Over and over again, he laid smack after hard smack on the wiggling bottom.

"Ooo!" Peter squealed, trying to get away. "Eee! Stop it now! Ow! No, you can't. Stop hitting me."

"Quiet, brat," Hook ordered. "I'm not hitting you. I'm spanking you."

"No, don't," Peter bucked, but Hook kept his leg clamped around the boy and moved his arm to press down on the boy's back. The boy could probably feel the hard curve of the hook on his back, but Hook was careful to keep the sharp point angled away from his skin. No use cutting him now, and ruining this new amusement.

Desperate, Peter flung both hands back to cover his bottom. Had he both hands, Hook would have simply gathered the boy's wrists and pinned them to the small of his back. But since he did not and since the hook might hurt him if Hook used it to gather up his hands, Hook simply raised his left knee a bit higher than his right. And then he swatted what he could reach of the back of brat's thighs.

Peter squealed with pain.

"Take your hands away, or I'll keep spanking your legs," Hook threatened, puncturing his statement with an especially stern smack

Peter yanked his hands off his bottom, but he renewed his efforts to get away. Finding no escape and Hook spanking his bottom again, Peter tried a new attempt. He sunk his teeth into Hook's leg.

Hook grimaced with pain, but he did not drop the boy. He raised his hand as high as it would go and then brought it down as hard as he could. Peter lurched forward from the impact.

"Do that again, and I'll won't stop for a long time," Hook threatened. "And I'll keep spanking you as hard as I can."

Peter did not bite again, nor did he struggle.

Hook delivered three more hearty smacks, and then it came. A heartfelt, agonized cry of defeat. The brat began to cry, a low noise broken by sniffs and "ows". It was music to Hook's ears.

He had no idea how long he spanked the brat. He just raised his hand over and over again, and concentrated on smacking that soft, squirming target over and over again. Eventually, he became aware that his hand was stinging from all the swatting. He also realized that the boy was holding onto his left boot with hand and the chair with the other to brace himself for the never-ending spanking. The boy was still crying, not frantically, not angrily, just the sad crying of a well-spanked boy who was getting exactly what he deserved.

"Let this _smack_ be a _smack_ lesson _smack_ to you," Hook said. He was not sure what made him say that. He probably had heard it decades ago as a child, but it seemed to fit the moment with his archenemy very well.

Peter continued to cry, not even venturing a retort.

Hook finally stopped, resting his hand on the rag-covered bottom which felt quiet hot to his touch. He waited as the boy continued to cry, lying limping over his knee.

As Peter's sobs gradually grew softer, Hook found himself in the difficult position of not knowing what to do. He had his reputation to think of, after all. Of course, if any of the crew saw him spanking the brat, they would probably cheer him on. Anything that hurt the brat was good in their eyes. But what to do now? Now that the boy had been harshly punished, should Hook continue with his threat to hurt him? The boy had made no attempt to get up now that it was over. Peter was using his left hand to wipe away his tears, but the other still gripped Hook ankle tightly.

Hook glared down at him. It was all very confusing now. He no longer wished to torture the brat, but he couldn't exactly let him go either. Not after searching for him for so long – the crew would be furious.

With his good hand, Hook gripped the back of Peter's neck and pulled him up to standing position. The boy could not look more pitiful. His face was red about the cheeks and tear-streaked and completely miserable. His bottom lip trembled as he reached both hands behind him to try to rub out the stinging.

"No rubbing," Hook commanded. He pulled up a small wooden chair and pushed the boy into it. Peter yelped as soon as his sore bottom hit the hard seat and he tried to stand up, but Hook put his hand on the boy's shoulder and held him down.

"No, sit still. It's part of the punishment."

Peter looked up at Hook, and Hook knew from that gaze that the brat considered him to be the cruelest villain to have ever sailed the seven seas. The brat wiped furiously at his tears, but he didn't make a sound. As Peter shifted on the seat, attempting to find a comfortable position, Hook strolled back to his desk and sat, propping his feet up and reaching for another cigar. "Ah, silence at last"

"I hate you," Peter whispered, staring down at the floor.

"The feeling is mutual," Hook noted. "You must feel that your bottom is on fire right about now. Ah, the concentration a spanked bottom brings, curbing that spite tongue of yours"

"I'll get you for this," Peter said, but the words were spoken without his usual bravado. He looked the epitome of a miserable, well-punished boy. The sight of him would have broken any woman's heart, Hook was sure, but it did nothing to his own heart. He felt nothing besides satisfaction. The brat had gotten what he deserved . . . at least, Hook told himself that and tried to ignore the pitiful face.

Instead, he enjoyed his cigar and ignored the nagging question of what to do next.

"Captain? Captain?" Smee's worried voice came through the door.

Hook sighed, but got up. He knew his idiotic pirate would continue to call, worried by the quiet of the captain's cabin. Giving Peter a look to stay put, Hook walked to the door and unlocked it.

"I do not wish to be disturbed," Hook told Smee, but the short pirate strained to see in.

"Captain, the crew is eager to see what has become of the whelp. Can you let us string up his body as a warning to others that would cross the fearsome Captain Hook?"

Hook resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Smee, as you can see –" Hook glanced back over his shoulder to point to the brat.

But his chair was empty.

He must be hiding behind the desk.

Hook took a few steps towards the desk when he heard a cry behind him. Hook turned back to see Peter dashing out from behind side of the cabinet towards the door. Smee could have stopped him, but the boy shoved past him and ran out onto the deck. Hook rushed for the door, but he knew he was too late. He caught sight of Peter dashing across the upper deck and diving over the side of the ship. They all heard him splash into the water.

Hook opened his mouth to shout for a rope to be thrown over the side. He couldn't remember if the brat could swim or not. But before he could say anything, the brat rose up in the air, wet but smiling. A glittering thing flew beside him, trailing pixie dust.

Peter Pan glared at Hook. "I'll get even," he promised. "Just wait."

Hook wanted to tip his head in reply, making a mockery of the brat's statement. Instead, he stood still and waited.

Peter frowned, almost pouted, and then he turned and flew away.

Hook waited until the boy had disappeared into the trees before turning to the crew below. All the pirates were looking up with hostile, angry eyes and clenched fists. No doubt they were not happy about having to search for the brat so hard and long only to have him slip through their fingers.

Hook faced them all. "I had Peter Pan in my cabin at my mercy. I was about to run him through with my hook, but I wanted to torture him to get him to tell me the secret of pixie dust so we could get this ship back to earth. Unfortunately, before I could get the truth out of him, Mr. Smee interrupted us. Mr. Smee let him get escape so that we will have to start our search all over again."

A growl raised from the pirates. Hook smiled.

"For his efforts, I suggested that you drape Mr. Smee over the railing of the main deck and each take turns showing him your displeasure. Your belts, your scabbards, and I'm sure Cook can provide a large, flat spoon that Mr. Smee will not forget quickly. At your leisure, dogs."

Hook nodded graciously.

"Captain, please," Smee begged, but Hook had already turned away. As he shut the cabin door behind him, he could here the jeers of the crew along with Smee's begging.


	2. Chapter 2 Brighter, Brightest

All right, I decided to make this into a multi-chapter story. I'm using all components of the Peter Pan myth at my leisure – the original book, the movies, the plays, and parts of the recent book that came out in the last two decades about both Peter and Hook.

As always, I own nothing that I write about, I make no money, but I do get to have fun.

On a side note, if you think there are parts of my story that seem out of canon, the myth does change for every different work of art. For example, in the book there isn't much about Hook's earlier life, but in the play by Barrie, Hook's last words are the motto of Eton, England's most prestigious prep school. So tell me what you think about all my changes. I'll be sure to note all of the reviews and respond accordingly.

Thanks!

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Night came early for Neverland, like a great winged bat lowering over the island. Sometimes there were brilliant sunsets – the sky tinged a deep rose with gold leaves shimmering over the water, brighter, brightest – and then there would be complete darkness for a moment until the moon came up and the stars shone through the blackness.

But tonight there was no sunset, just night and then the moon and stars.

Hook stood on the upper deck, staring out at the infinity of stars. A lifetime ago at Eton, he had had an astronomy class where all the young men peered into telescopes eagerly and charted the direction of planets and stars. Hook had deliberately missed as many classes as he could without the headmaster being informed. Stars in the sky had not interested Hook; he was much more keen about the world around him, a world he could conquer and control.

Most importantly, he had been interested in Miss Alivia Martin, daughter of a prominent merchant whose house was less than a mile from Hook's dormitory. Beautiful, shining, angelic Alivia with that gorgeous dark hair and sparking blue eyes.

"Nine o'clock," called out a voice. "Batten down and lanterns out."

Hook frowned. It was most infuriating. When they had first come to the island or rather been taken there, Hook insisted on keeping regular hours: four hours on duty then fours hours off for every sailor. That was someone could always keep watch and someone could swab or cook of tidy up the sails, everything run in an orderly fashion.

But as time had passed and it became unclear if they would ever leave the island, Hook found it impossible to keep his old time schedule. The pirates lagged, the clocks – all silent, of course – were not wound, and men forgot to call out the hours as they lazed or even slept on deck.

Naturally, Hook had tried to install discipline. He yelled, flogged, put the whole crew of severe rations, even threatened to run his hook through the throat of the next man that defied him. Nothing worked. As Hook gradually realized to his dismay, it was impossible to keep pirates on schedule with no compensation or rewards. They could not go on leave for a night at the taverns or for the favors of a few wenches. Just like Hook, they were stuck on the ship on the island.

Hook had considered killing them all, just blowing their heads off with his pistol and being done with them once and for all. But he needed Smee to do the cooking and the washing, and Hook could not abide the thought of being trapped alone with Smee. If that happened, Hook was certain he would blow his own brains out.

So, Hook allowed his sailors to sleep at night. When they first changed the schedule, Hook had made them retire no earlier than midnight and wake at half-past five without any time fore sleep in the day, sure that sleep-deprivation would drive them back to the old schedule of four hours on/four hours off. It had not, and the eventually the hours had extended on both ends to 9pm to 7am. Ten hours of sleep and rest! That indulgence infuriated Hook to no end, and to retain some semblance of order, he keep his ship spotless, the pirates swabbing and polishing the deck until Hook could see his reflection in it.

Every third day, Hook commanded his man to carry him in his chair on a seven miles hike through the woods or on the beach. The chair was made of silver, gold, and iron with carved wood inlaid, and with Hook in it, it weighed at least six-hundred pound. Eight pirates carried it as a time, but Hook made the remaining pirates lug buckets of water on a yoke, carrying over fifty pounds. It was a tiresome, tedious task, and the pirates hated it. They vented their displeasure by swearing when they thought Hook couldn't hear them, but the exercise kept them in line and in shape.

As Hook continued to watch the stars, he heard someone limping up to the deck, accompanied by heavy sighs. Smee's head cleared the stairs, and he laboriously pulled himself up to the top.

Hook resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He had stopped the beating after ten minutes, shooting that he could not get a moment's peace with Smee hollering and carrying on. Of the two punished that day, Hook would have thought that the boy had the longer punishment and perhaps the more severe. But to see Smee limping about the ship, wincing and moaning, you would have thought he got a hundred with the cat.

"Lights out, captain," Smee said in a small, pathetic voice.

"Yes, I can see that," Hook snapped, gesturing to the main deck that was all dark.

"Got to save the lanterns," Smee sniffed.

Hook gave him a suspicious glance. Hook was not sure how long they had been on the island. He had first kept a captain's log to record every day, but after over three years - 1273 days to be exact – Hook had abandoned it, feeling it was too depressing to mark days where he accomplished nothing. Sometimes he reckoned they had been there three decades, other times he thought three centuries. Even by the thirty years' guess, they should have run out of lantern oil and wicks a long time along with candles, food, rum, and whiskey. To Hook's best recollection, they had not had an abundance of supplies on the ship when they were taken to the island.

Yet, the lanterns still burned, and Smee still served good food, and the pirates could get drunk every Friday and Saturday night. Of course, they were never sure exactly when it was Friday or Saturday. Every few days, someone would suggest that it was either day, and everyone else agreed. Then they broke out the spirits and a few musical instruments and celebrated. To his annoyance, Hook found that though he tried to contradict them about the days – especially when they had three Fridays and four Saturdays in the space of eleven days! – there was nothing he could do to prove which day it was or wasn't. He could order no drinking regardless of the day, but then there were sullen looks and grumbling of "No rum on Friday night. Think this was a ruddy nunnery, the way we live here."

Hook was unsure exactly where all the supplies came from. A few times he had questioned Smee, but the short pirate evaded the questions. He would mutter something about not arguing with the ways of the island – "Best left quiet, captain, yes, very quiet indeed."

Hook never got a straight answer from him, but he told himself he didn't really care about where the supplies came from as long as they continued to come.

"Shall I bring you a glass of brandy?" Smee asked pitifully. "Before I drag my sore bones off to bed?"

"Oh, stop your caterwauling!" Hook snarled. "You know not to interrupt me in my quarters whether I am alone or not, and you let him escape. Be glad I am not running my hook through you right now. Get my brandy and get out of my sight."

"Aye, aye, captain," Smee sniffed one last time. He shuffled off, exaggerating his limp.

Later, as the ship fell silent, Hook sat in his quarters, sloshing his brandy gently to keep it warm. Unlike the seas of earth, his ship did not roll or creak in the water. Except for an occasion rise or fall, Hook might have thought himself on land. The Jolly Roger, like her captain and crew, did not age either. Her hull did not leak, her wood never rotted, and she did not groan or creak like other ships did often on the sea.

Her figurehead, the head and torso of a woman, gazed down on the ocean proudly. Her face was made of a smooth oak but her wild mane of hair was a rich mahogany wood that in the glow of the lanterns looked almost black.

In his cabin, Hook could not see her, but he knew she was out there, watching over his ship. In the darkness, her eyes were still wide, but empty, keeping eternal watch for him.

Hook reached to open the bottom right drawer of his huge desk and pulled out a half-full bottle of rum that he had confiscated from Starkey one evening when the pirates had been especially drunk. Starkey had been hanging over the side of the ship, hollering and singing out to the water. Hook had deliberated on giving him a hard kick and sending him overboard, but instead he had grabbed the bottle Starkey had dropped on the deck and left the pirate to warble to the moonlight.

Hook yanked out the cork with his teeth, and then leaned back in his chair and took a long draught. It burned his throat as it went down, a slow steady burn that sparked his senses before receded into a dull ache.

Several drinks of rum and Smee's brandy later, Hook was feeling satisfyingly tired. Smee had helped him removed his coat, shirt and hook, taking off the metal and leather contraption that fit around Hook's left shoulder and arm to keep his hook on. When he first lost his hand, the contraption had bitten into his skin, rubbing and chafing his shoulder and stump raw. But time and adjustments had eased the pain, and now he hardly realized he had it on. Yet, he hated to sleep with it, never allowing his arm to breathe free.

Hook toed off his boots and then flung himself back onto his bed, right hand still clutching the rum bottle with a little bit still sloshing around. He had a proper nightshirt somewhere, but he preferred to sleep in his breeches. If they were ever attacked, he could not bear the humiliation of being found unprepared in his nightshirt.

His bed was the central focus of his bedroom. Though all his pirates had hanging hammocks save for Smee who had some kind of large cabinet in the galley that he liked to crawl in and talk to himself, Hook had had a huge carved bed made and then anchored to the floor of his cabin. It was big by ship standards where space was precious, but on land the bed would have only held two people if they crushed together tightly.

Hook had planned to take a different woman with him on each pirating voyage. He could imagine their delight with the elegant bed and the silk coverlet, trimmed with satin, that lay on the bed. Ironically, no woman had ever shared the bed with him. The ship and crew had been taken to the island not two days after the bed was put in Hook's cabin, another cruelty he suffered. Many nights he had lay on the bed, staring out his port window at the stars, imagining a woman nestled in his arms. Her soft, dark hair splayed on the bed, her hand over his heart as she slept, her breath warm and gentle against his neck.

Hook drained the last of the rum from the bottle. Then he dropped it, letting it roll across the floor way from the bed. He considered going to find more. By normal standards, he had had enough drink to bring down a man twice his size, but tonight the numbness just wouldn't come. He had no problem marching into his own galley and getting whatever he wanted. But then his pirates would know that their captain needed rum to settle his nerves, and Hook couldn't abide their sympathetic glances the next morning. He would kill the lot of them, and then what would he do? Better to wait and hope the alcohol would send him into a stupor shortly.

Hoping to hurry the process along, he closed his eyes, just for a second. But when he opened them a soft light had filled the room.

And a woman was standing in the room at the foot of the bed.

She had long, dark hair that fell down around her shoulders in luxurious waves. Her eyes, deep and blue as the sea, watched him, framed by long sooty lashes. She wore a white dress that seemed to float around her.

Hook sat up, using both hands to push himself up.

"Alivia," Hook whispered, barely able to get the words out.

She smiled, a smile full of sadness and longing. "Oh, Jamie."

He did not return her smile. "And what have I done to bring you here? To entice you to visit my dreams?"

"Why do you think this is a dream?" she asked in a hushed voice as if they were in a quiet, holy place. Something fluttered behind her, barely visible.

Hook lifted up his left arm and moved his fingers. "I have my hand back. And you have wings."

Two huge, white wings unfolded, paper-thin and glowing with light.

Hook shook his head. "You didn't have wings when I knew you."

"It's the island," she told him.

"It always it," Hook almost sneered. There was something so beautiful, so shiny and shimmering about her – it hurt to look at her. He ran his right hand over his goatee and mustache. It felt so wonderful – the scratchiness against his fingers and palm.

"I don't suppose I could coax you into coming closer, maybe sharing this bed with me?"

Alivia looked at him with silent eyes.

"Of course," Hook nodded sarcastically. "Not on earth, not here, either. At least you're consistent, my dear."

"I'm here, Jamie," she said in a rush. "Talk to me."

"You're dead," he told her.

"Jamie," her voice was full of hurt and disbelief.

He shrugged coldly. "Women die on earth. Consumption, childbirth, killed by a jealous husband over a lover. Well, if you aren't dead, you're old and ugly, beaten by time, an old shriveled woman."

"Why are you being cruel?" her wings beat a little harder.

"I'm being as kind as you were to me," he reminded her, sitting straight up.

"You were a pirate," Alivia cried out, rushing forward several steps. "When you were in school, I thought I knew you, but then you left. And when you came back, you were a pirate with a sword in one hand and a bottle of rum in the other."

"And you were engaged to a duke with a huge diamond on your finger and a train of servants to pamper you."

"I had to marry him," Alivia insisted. "My father made me – he ordered me to marry the duke or else."

"I wanted to take you away," Hook felt anger coursed through his entire body. "I had a ship and money. Not a title nor a castle, but enough money for a merchant's daughter. I told you to come with me, begged you. But you refused. If you had come with me, we could be together here forever. But I'm alone here, and you're old or dead on earth."

Her blue eyes were brimming with tears, but the halo of light around her seemed to grow brighter.

"Where have you been?" he snarled at her. "I've searched for you in my dreams, prayed that you would visit me. But I've never seen you, not until tonight. Why now? Where have you been, Alivia? Where in hell have you been?"

His voice was racked with pain, and tears finally spilled out on her cheeks.

"I couldn't reach you," she whispered. "Something held me back. But tonight something else cried out to me. I felt a child in pain, a little boy all alone and hurting."

"No," Hook ground the word out with loathing.

"I knew that he was hurt, and even more, I knew that you had hurt him. Why, Jamie? Why would you ever hurt a child?"

"Get out of my sight," Hook ordered. He stood up, and even bare-chested and without his boots, he felt in complete control.

"Why Jamie?" she asked again.

"No," he barked the word out. "No, you do not get to come here after all this time and judge me. Yes, I hurt that brat. The same brat that brought me here, took my hand, and has kept me here until I've nearly lost my mind. You do not judge me, you filthy sow of a woman."

"You could have so much more," she protested. "You could have everything you ever wanted."

"No," Hook stated adamantly, "you took away the only thing I ever wanted, and now I'm stuck here."

"Jamie," her voice was breathy whisper, "there is more to this island that you could ever imagine. This is not a playground for children – there is more life here than you will ever see. There are fountains of joys that could be yours. You could live here, really live."

He watched her with cold eyes, his face hard and bitter. She was growing brighter and brighter. Her entire body glowed with an ethereal light, the halo like melted gold. It grew so bright that Hook closed his eyes for a second.

When he opened them, she was gone.

He blinked, then realized that he was lying back on the bed and it was morning.

------

"Here you go, captain," Smee placed the cover dish of poached eggs on the table very carefully. "Just the way you like them, sir. And everything else done right, just to yer liking."

Hook looked down at his trembling bo'sun. The crew was used to their captain waking in nasty temper, but this morning Hook had been particularly vicious. Nothing could please him, and the crew dashed around the ship, trimming sails, tidying up, and falling over each other to get out of Hook's way. Hook had shouted, sworn, and knocked Billy Jukes backwards on the deck. When another pirate didn't crawl out the way soon enough, and Hook's left boot brushed against the pirate's knee, Hook lost it. After giving the wayward pirate an angry kick, Hook bellowed that there would be no breakfast for anyone, that they would all have to go down to the galley and watch Smee prepare a breakfast for his captain while they got nothing.

A chorus of groans broke out, though no man dared say anything too loud, and Smee rushed forward to say that the captain's breakfast was ready and would he like to dine on land? It was a fine, clear morning, and the good captain could take his breakfast in the clearing near the grove of pines and elms that would provide shade. And while the good captain was eating, the crew would tidy the ship up proper, oh yes, captain, they would.

Hook had considered shouting at Smee for preparing breakfast so fast and thus ruining the punishment, but instead Hook dourly agreed. He then roared for the men to carry the white iron chair and table to the clearing so he could take breakfast like gentleman. The fact that he knew as soon as he was gone the pirates would sneak into the galley and eat while Smee hurried to get them food and drink only served to infuriate Hook further. He yelled and brandished his hook while they took down the chair, table, and dishes.

He noticed the fear in their eyes along with their concerned looks at each other, but he smiled inwardly. It was good to rekindled fear in them; keep them from mutinying or getting lazy. Maintaining discipline and moral on board ship was vital while on earth – here it meant the difference between routine and insanity. If the pirates ever ganged together against him, Hook knew he could not win. He might kill five or six on his way down, but they would get him eventually. He forever played a balance between cruelty and leniency – cracking down on them one moment and showing mercy a moment later. The fact that they were all stupid pirates helped – fierce, cutthroat, greedy, yes – but stupid all the same. As he constantly reminded them, they would never be able to navigate the ship without him. Not that they needed to navigate now, but as he hinted, if they ever got off the island, they would need a good navigator. So they did not mutiny, and he did not killed them. Fair play all around.

"Good," Hook snarled as he flung himself into his chair. "Now get out of my sight."

"Aye, aye, captain," Smee nearly tripped over his own feet and he scurried out of the clearing, towards the beach.

Hook glared at him, but then he turned his attentions towards eating. From his position, he could see the sea past the white sandy beach, but his ship was hidden by the trees to his right. The sun shone upon the waves, turning the tips bright as diamonds. A few birds twittered in the trees, but they kept their songs low and did not hop out on the limbs. Hook had shot at them before, trying to hush their infernal noises so the animals knew to keep down when he was in the clearing or in the woods at all.

He poured himself a cup of tea in the thin, china cup and saucer. Hook valued the china almost as much as his ship, the china she had admired and touched in the store on a dirty street in London, sighing over its curved edges and delicate feel. Hook told his crew in no uncertain terms that if any man so much as chipped an edge of the china, he would torture that man for twenty-one days straight and then flog him to death. So far the china remained unblemished. Of course, Hook wasn't sure if that were the pirates' carefulness or the island.

The tea was good and hot, very strong too. Hook began to relax, to let his nerves unwind from his vision last night. Just the thought if Alivia was enough to set his teeth of edge. To see her, in all her splendor, her beauty untouched by age, her face soft and unlined – it made his blood boil.

But to sit here in the clearing with the pleasures of nature around him, savoring a delicious breakfast, it almost made him forget the whole night and it eased his anger. He would sit here and enjoy the morning until he went back to the ship to see how his crew had fared. They would have everything clean and ship-shape, ready to follow orders. If they looked like they had eaten, he would instruct them to ready his chair for a midday hike, though perhaps not the whole eight miles. If they looked hungry, he would announce that they had learned their lesson and would order a nice dinner for them.

But for now, just sit and relax, breathing the morning air.

Something moved in the trees. Hook's sharp eyes caught the flutter of movement in one old elm tree. About twenty feet up in the air, and the tree was maybe thirty feet away, but Hook saw the movement. No bird was that big, and no animal had a bare foot like the one that slipped into view for a moment as the branches shook.

Hook looked into his teacup at the random pattern the crushed tealeaves left. He did not like being spied on, but he had been on the way to good feelings and he hated to be interrupted when he wanted to feel one way or the other. Maybe the brat would stay in the tree and get bored, then go away.

The branches rustled, and then Hook saw, from the corner of his eyes, the brat fly to another tree. The brat actually flew to another tree, in plain sight for at least two or three seconds! The little fairy was with him this time, leaving a tiny trail of pixie dust behind her. For two creatures that were trying to be quiet, they were very noisy. As Hook pretended to eat and not notice them, he could heard the leaves rustle. Then the brat whispered a loud "Ow, Tink!" and a small limb fell, bouncing to the ground below.

Hook set his teacup down decidedly. The limb had not been anywhere near him, but he was trying to enjoy breakfast and that did not include being watched by a noisy brat.

The words "I don't believe in fairies" rested on Hook's lips. He knew that if he said them the brat's fairy probably would not die, but they would infuriate the brat. The boy would fly down and yell or cry or throw things maybe, distraught that anyone would ever say such a thing. And though Hook did not carry much about the yelling or the crying, he didn't want to risk breaking the thin china.

So he did the only thing that might help the situation.

He pulled out his pistol, aimed for the rustling leaves, lowered it half an inch, and fired.

The shot rang out in clearing, echoing through the trees.

Immediately, the brat gave a cry and tumbled out of the trees. He fell to the soft moss below, but the tiny fairy dashed down after him, giving out a furious tinkling of bell sounds.

Hook rolled his eyes. So the brat could fly, but scare him, and he fell out of the tree like any ordinary boy in a tumble of limbs and dirty rags.

"I'm all right, Tink," the boy insisted, pulling himself up to his feet. "I'm all right, really."

"Good morning," Hook said in a loud, almost grating tone as if to tell the boy that the jig was up.

Peter glared at Hook. "You shot me," he accused.

"No, I shot the tree beneath you," Hook replied calmly. "You were spying on me. Now, go away."

"No," Peter said stubbornly.

Hook looked at him pointedly. "I am taking breakfast like a gentleman. Gentlemen do not shout at little boys across a clearing while they eat. If you have something to say to me, come closer and do so."

Peter took one uncertain step, then stopped. "I have a dagger," he motioned to the small knife in a scabbard at his belt.

"And I have a gun with several shots left," Hook returned. "We are both armed. So, say what you will or leave."

The fairy pulled at Peter's ear, the bell sounds coming out high and excited. "It's all right," Peter whispered to the fairy. "I won't let him get me again . . . Stop being such a worrier, Tink. Come on, you'll see."

"The fairy stays where she is," Hook ordered. "Or I'll tell you whether or not I believe in fairies, and you won't like my answer."

Peter froze. Then he whispered, "Go back up to the tree, Tink. No, I have the dust on me – I can fly away."

With one last bell sound which resembled a huff, the fairy darted up to the tree branches above. And Peter edged closer and closer, stepped in an odd side-to-side way as if he were reluctantly to commit to walking straight towards Hook. Peter hedged, and he stopped, and he looked back, and he frowned, and finally Hook had had it. With a growl, Hook pulled out his gun and pointed it straight at the brat.

"Come close now, or I will shoot you. Close enough that you could touch the table. I mean it . . . now!"

Peter hurried forward, but once he got there, he glared at Hook with intense dislike, almost hatred.

"Good," Hook set his gun down. "Now, say what you came to say, and get out. I have a lot of work to do, a very busy day ahead of me."

This was perhaps the biggest lie Hook had told in several years, but he said it with a stern face, and obviously the brat believed him. But Peter seemed to have trouble getting words out.

"I – I," he stammered, "you – you aren't, I didn't . . . I just want –"

"Yes?" Hook said sharply. He suddenly was hit with a memory of his own childhood, what seemed like a thousand years ago. Sitting on those hard wooden benches while the schoolmaster tried to get a younger boy to recite his lessons. The younger boy had stuttered and stumbled and then started to whimper when the schoolmaster threatened to whip him. For the first time ever, Hook felt an overwhelming sympathy for that schoolmaster, having to listen to such an idiot boy.

"Yes?" he demanded of Peter again. "Do you have something to say?"

"You – you hurt me," the boy finally got out.

"And you cut off my hand," Hook reminded him acidly. "Is that all?"

"No," Peter shook his head, his bottom lip sticking out the least bit. "It was different. We – we fight with swords and sometimes we get hurt, but that was different. We sword-fight, but instead you did something different. I don't like it. I don't like being panked."

Hook's lips twitched, but he refused to let himself smile, nor did he correct the boy. "You didn't like it?"

"No, I hate being panked," Peter declared. "And I'm here to tell you that I won't be anymore. No more ever! Just sword-fighting. That's what we do."

"I can truthfully tell you in good faith that I won't pank you anymore," Hook assured him.

Peter looked relieved and let out his breath heavily. But Hook leaned over until he could see the yellow lights in the boy's green eyes.

"However, I can tell you," Hook said in a low, ominous voice, "if I ever get my hands on you again, I will spank you until you can't sit down for a week."

Peter's eyes flew open in mute horror.

"And," Hook continued menacingly, "I will drag you into my cabin to do it, but this time I won't let you go. I will turn you over my knee and smack you with my hand or the back of my hairbrush until you wish you had never laid eyes on me. What do you think of that?"

Peter's mouth open and closed, but he was unable to make a sound. He gulped and began to back up, not taking his eyes off Hook.

"Now, then," Hook leaned back in his chair, "fly away and annoy someone else for a change. Go play with those other brats or let some poor girl 'mother' you until she too gets sick of you."

The last words came out harder and bitterer than Hook meant them to be, but the effect was the same. Peter blinked very quickly, and Hook thought his eyes seemed particularly bright, but then the boy flew into the air. He flew up higher and higher until he disappeared into the high branches. Hook caught sight of the fairy dashed up too.

Hook waited, straining to hear if the brat was going to come back. But there was no swish of air or rustling of trees, so Hook assumed that he was alone for the time being. With a relieved sigh, he went back to his breakfast.


	3. Chapter 3 A Sinister Plan

A.N: Here is another chapter. I don't own Peter Pan or make any money off it. Also, I don't own Clarissa by Samuel Johnson, but that was written back in the 1700's , so I think the copyright has long expired. I look forward to reviews, and I promise I'll update sooner because I've already started on the next chapter.

Thanks.

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After finishing breakfast, Hook went back to his ship, not feeling that he was in a bad mood exactly. But his usual taciturn disposition caused him to show a demeanor that at ordinary times was cross and rough and at bad times was cruel and ruthless. As he blew his brass whistle for all hands to line up for inspection, the pirates hurried to obey.

But he noticed Starkey wiping his mouth off hastily while Bill Jukes was swallowing something besides fear. So they had eaten, disobeying his orders. Hook felt anger surge through him, and he held out his hook menacingly. He would see blood that day, blood until it spilled all over his decks, mingled with sweat and tears.

But . . .

Well, he had already seen one display of abject fear that morning. The look in the brat's eyes and then the way he scrambled on those young legs to get away – that was enough to satisfy Hook for one day. Maybe blood would be spilt tomorrow. Yet his crew needed to see something, needed to know that he was still lord and master over them.

"I see by your slovenly appearance and fat cheeks," he said in a smooth voice, "that my crew no longer considers me captain. You want to follow your own orders, disregarding my rules, my orders."

He had lowered his voice to a hushed tone, almost a caress, his words silky as they slipped from his mouth. The effect was instantaneous – all the pirates began to tremble with terror. They liked Hook loud and brutal, shouting orders and threatening to flay them alive at the smallest sign of refusal. But Hook quiet was Hood deadly, and they all dreaded when he spoke in such a sweet, gentle tone as if he never raised his voice beyond a gentlemanly level.

"Now, Bones," he looked at one pirate, knowing his own blue eyes were clear and peaceful which made Bones quake with fear, "Bone, tell me. Do I enjoy your disobedience?"

"No, captain," Bones whispered, unable to look Hook in the eye.

"Do I like to see my orders ignored?"

"No," even lower.

"No?" Hook feigned surprise. "I don't? _Tsk, tsk_. I suppose I don't. Since I don't like it, what do you suppose I should do to such a disruptive crew?"

No one moved, no one dared breathed, except Smee who shuffled on the deck, muttering to himself.

"No suggestions? How very usual. I would have thought that such a rebellious crew of pirates would have plenty of ideas about how they wished to be punished. Very well then I will have to put my own mind to it. Let's see – how to punish this crew," Hook walked to the end of the quaking line and stopped, turning around. "Well, I suppose the best way to do it is – Ready The Plank!" he roared.

A wail rose from the pirates. "No, captain!"

"Please, captain, not that!"

"Anything else, captain! We beg you!"

"No, captain, please, sir!"

Hook smiled as he listened to their pleading, a few of them falling to their knees. "Silence! Bones, Jukes, ready the plank! Then you all queue up, one by one. Starkey, you first."

Whimpering and moaning, they all lined up as the two pirates got the plank out and strapped it down to the opening in the deck. It was a long plank, nearly fifteen feet long. Four feet lay over the deck, but the last eleven hung out of the water.

"Ready?" Hook smiled at their misery. "Smee, you get out of line. I need you to stay here. The rest of you, say yours prayers."

"But captain," Jukes begged pitifully, "what if the croc is down there?"

"That is why you're praying," Hook snapped back. "Starkey, show them how to do it."

With one last groan, Starkey stepped onto the plank and started walking. The other pirate's hushed as he got to the end of the plank and looked back. "Please, captain,"

Hook slammed one booted foot on the other end of the plank. Starkey wobbled and fell off, going down with a cry and splashing into the water.

"Next!" Hook ordered.

Bones started down the plank. He reached the end, Hook's boot came down again, and "Next!"

Four minutes later, all the pirates were in the water, treading, swimming, or holding onto the side of the ship.

"Captain, please!" one called up. "It's freezing down here. Let us up, please."

"Not yet," Hook yelled back. He turned to Smee. "Go fetching the soap bucket. Lower it down so they can use it. Once every man has scrubbed, toss the rope ladder over the side."

"Aye, aye, sir," Smee said.

"Once they come up, send them to their hammocks. They are to strip off their clothes and wrap up in blankets or tarp or anything else they can find. You are to clean their clothes and hang them out to dry. If you disobey me, I'll toss you in after them."

"Aye, aye, sir," Smee nodded woefully.

"Get to it," Hook snapped.

On the whole, it was a delightful afternoon. For a change, the ship was quiet and peaceful. Wrapped up in blankets, the crew was very subdued as a whole, laying in their hammocks or sitting in huddled bunches. Though the weather was quiet pleasant, Hook heard mutters of "Catch my death of cold," and "Not decent, to make a man all wet like that."

It took until suppertime for their clothes to dry, and then they all ate in silence and went to bed shortly after. It was almost comic to see such huge, hulking pirates cowering in their hammocks to ward off the cold. Smee rushed around with a large bottle of brandy and poured out doses in a large spoon. Though normally the pirates would have cheered to get brandy instead of rum or whiskey, they treated the doses as actual medicine, grimacing as they swallowed and moaning about getting sick.

Hook was not bothered in the least. It had been at least a month by his best calculations since the pirates had had a wash, and though they did not stink as fast on the island as they had on earth, it had been long overdue. Usually, Hook had Smee boil some water, and each pirate gave himself a sponge bath. But they tended to skimp on the soap and water, and in the long run, it was easier to force them to jump into the sea. They pretended to hate it, and Hook pretended to enjoy the sounds of their misery so everyone won, distracted from the madness of having nothing else to do, at least for a day.

Hook himself had a huge iron bathtub in a small room off his bed cabin, and he bathed every third day. But the pirates were not as attentive to cleanliness as he was, so sometimes sterner methods had to be employed to get them clean. And the walking the plank bit was just for fun.

By the lanterns-out time, the whole ship was quiet, the pirates all having fretted themselves to sleep. Hook stayed on deck for a while, watching the stars hold back the darkness high above his ship. Once he went to his cabin, Hook pulled out another bottle, one he had taken from the galley while Smee was busy dangling soap down to the wet, whining pirates.

Hook drank exactly half the bottle, ignoring the burn as the rum poured down his throat. Then he recorked the bottle. His hook and contraption were already off so he pulled his shirt and boots off and lied down on the bed on the same side he had laid the previous night.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Then he opened them.

There was no else in the room.

Swallowing a curse, he forced himself to relax and closed his eyes again. This time he kept them closed for fifty seconds, silently counting the numbers in his head.

But the room was still empty when he opened his eyes.

Perhaps he had been asleep longer last night. He had drunk the rum slower, waiting for it to numb him. He would just have to wait and drift off to sleep, and then she would come.

It was the hardest thing he had ever done, but Hook made himself relax again and try to nod off.

And eventually he did go to sleep, drifting off to the land of slumber and dreams. But nowhere in his dreams could he find a raven-haired woman with white wings. He searched for her, but she never appeared.

------

If he had been in a cross mood the morning after seeing Alivia, then the next morning after never finding her, Hook was furious.

As he stormed around his ship, snarling and barking orders, he could feel himself growing more and more angry, enraged to almost the point of insanity. His blue eyes were turning red around the pupil, and somewhere in their simple minds, the pirates understood that something very bad had happened to their captain. Though on most occasions, jumping in the sea would have been cause to play sick the next day and moan about their faux illnesses, not one pirate dared even fake a cough. They all hurried to their jobs, trying to get out of his way.

Smee brought him a cup of tea in a pale green cup, and Hook snatched up the cup and hurled it on the deck. It broke, and green-painted glass skittered across the deck.

"I don't want tea, you stupid tub of lard!" Hook roared. "If I had known what idiots I would be trapped with for a lifetime, I would have hung myself the moment we came to this damned place!"

The pirates edged back, giving Hook plenty of room. Smee knelt down on the deck, picking up the larger pieces of glass and murmured, "Don't matter none, no, it don't. Plenty more of where that came from, yes, there is. Just reappears, it does."

"Stop that mutter," Hook threatened, "or I'll make you walk barefoot over the glass. What are you all standing around for? Get to work, get to work! And ready my chair for a long trot around the island."

Even yelling at his crew for the next three hours as they toiled through the jungle of the island on a ten-mile hike did not appease Hook's temper. Smee kept trying to offer him a cup of tea that Hook knew was laced with laudanum, but he just shouted for the short pirate to get out of his way.

By the next day and still no sight of Alivia, Hook knew something was wrong. He could feel her slipping away, her face blurring in his memory, but he could not let her go.

He locked himself in his cabin for the afternoon. The whole crew had gone to hunt a boar for dinner, and though Hook knew Smee often served them meat when no one had hunted, he let them go anyway. They would trample through the woods for hours and maybe catch a rabbit, though usually it was a large rat, and they would bring it back to the ship and tell Smee to skin and cook it. They would have meat for supper those nights, but Hook knew from the taste of it that the meat served was pork, beef, or lamb, certainly not rabbit or rat. But he would said nothing, and the crew would congratulate themselves for hunting down such delicious game. Yet, he let them go for the afternoon, and Smee scurried off to the beach to build a sandcastle or some nonsense, and Hook had the ship to himself.

He selected a book from his small library, then sat in his captain's chair with his boots propped up on a low stool. The book, _Clarissa_, was one he had read at least fifteen times. The spine of the book was bent down the middle, and the pages fell open easily. He hated the story – after the girl had fought so hard and long to keep her virginity from the notorious Robert Lovelace, she had no business simply giving up and dying when Lovelace finally raped her. Even the fact that Lovelace bled to death did not make Hook feel any less angry. Beauty, smart Clarissa with her gentle love and sweet innocence – she should have stood up in the prison cell and cursed Lovelace with poisonous lips, not have simply withered and died.

Yet, Hook read it, devouring the words with each turning page. Part of him wondered what might have happened if he had acted as Lovelace did. Instead of leaving Alivia with her precious duke, what if he had taken her by force? Kidnapped her one evening and carried her to his ship over his shoulder – she might struggled, but he would have had her there anyway, brought by his strength. She might have hated him for it, but she would have had decades to get over her hatred, here on the island. And what woman would not be tempted with the idea of staying young and beautiful forever?

So Hook kept reading, knowing what was to happen to sweet Clarissa, knowing it, hating it, but needing to read it once again. Clarissa with no one to take care of her, Clarissa with her belief in the good of others, Clarissa who could not stand to see another in pain . . .

Hook drew in a sharp breath, and he looked up from his book as understanding dawned upon him. Pain – was that what had brought Alivia back. Not Hook's own pain, no, she would never be moved by something as trivial as her former sweetheart's agony over his loss. But she might have come for another's pain. Something had let her through – something had called to her. Had it been the brat's grief?

Hook felt torn between hope and insane rage. On one hand, Alivia had no right to care about some brat who flew around with fairies and cut off pirates' hands and threw them to crocodiles. She had no right to meddle in the ways of the island. But on the other hand, if she came once for the brat's pain, there was a chance she would come again.

Hook rose to his feet, pacing anxiously. He would have to find the brat. He would spank him again as he had threatened and if the boy were in tears again, miserable and contrite, she might come back. It made Hook's blood start to boil, thinking that he needed the brat to bring his love back, but he needed her. She was his, and nothing was going to stand his way. He wanted to kill the brat, right? Well, why kill him when Hook could simply keep him around for a beating ever now and then to bring his love to his dreams at night?

A little voice inside warned him that Alivia might not come back once she realized that he was torturing the brat to see her, but that was a chance Hook was willing to take.

He forced himself to sit again. He had no use for reading anymore, but he could not do anything while his crew was gone. They had trapped the brat once; they would know how to do it again. And what would be the best way to keep the brat on the ship? Build a cage and lock him in there? They could chain him to the deck to work and give him scraps to keep him alive. Maybe kill that annoying fairy of his and he wouldn't think he could fly away.

A cooing noise sounded outside one of the round windows.

Hook glared at the window. He was busying planning a nefarious plan. He had no time for birds. Growling, he went to the window to tell the bird to fly away or be shot. He pushed open the round window and leaned out.

There was no bird to be seen.

However, there was a boy on a large beam that jutted out from the ship, and oddly enough, it was just the boy Hook had been thinking of. He smiled sinisterly, but then schooled his face into a blank expression.

The brat was huddled against the ship, which was understandable considering the beam was not that wide. Yet, the boy was making a whining, pathetic little noise between crying and whimpering. His face was buried in his hands, and he was very dirty, his arms and legs smudged with mud.

"What's all this noise about?" Hook demanded, careful to keep his voice stern and annoyed.

The brat jerked his head up and looked at Hook. His face was even dirtier than his arms.

"What are you crying about?" Hook asked scornfully.

Peter lifted his chin. "I'm not crying."

And he wasn't, not yet at least.

Hook knew he had to be careful here – he could not reach the brat. Peter was beyond his arm length, and at the first sign of fear, Hook knew the boy would likely take to the skies in a flash. It was a very delicate situation, to be handled carefully.

"Why are you here?" Hook kept his voice between curiosity and a general annoyance. If he were too severe, the brat would fly away. Too kind, and the brat would know something was afoot. "Why are you on my ship?"

"It's my ship," Peter told him sulkily.

"No, it's mine," Hook said a little more quickly than he meant to.

"I brought it here," Peter argued. "I brought it here, so it's mine."

Hook's temper flared, and he had to choke back a very cruel retort. No, don't scare the brat away yet.

"You're right," Hook's voice was under tight control, his mouth barely moving. "You did bring me here. But you did not answer my question. Why are you sitting on my – on this ship?"

Peter gave a little shrug.

"Why don't you go to your home?" Hook pressed on. The longer he talked to the boy, the more likely he was to find a way to capture him.

Peter's bottom lip came out a little, and he shook his head in a sad way, making his dark blond curls bounce back and forth. "Everyone's gone."

"What do you mean?"

"All the boys," Peter sniffed, distressed. "They left me, but I don't care none. They can go away and not come back forever! I have Tink. We can fly and play games, but now she's gone too."

"Maybe she went to visit someone," Hook was sarcastic, but Peter didn't seem to notice.

"No, no, she wouldn't leave me. She's my fairy, all mine. She stays with me, but I can't find her now. Did I lose her? No, I couldn't lose her. Then why would she leave me?"

Hook wanted to close the window, to shut out the brat's internal conversation. But he needed the boy, blast it. Hook stared at Peter, weighing the consequences of what he might do.

Though the brat might not know it, everything hung in the balance for those eight silent seconds while Hook considered. Somehow, though he couldn't put it into words why, Hook felt that he was about begin something that would change his life forever. He considered it, he weighed everything in the balance . . .

Then he looked at Peter and smiled. "I know where your fairy is."

Peter looked at him surprised and scooted closer. "You do?"

"Well, I think I do," Hook continued in his softest voice. "I think I have her inside here."

"Really?" Peter looked up, his green eyes wide with hope.

He was close enough for Hook to grab him now. But Hook knew that though he might wrap his hand around the boy, there was no way he could pull him through the window. The window was big enough, but Hook knew that the brat would kick and struggle and push against the side of the ship, and Hook had no interest in straining his arm to yank the boy inside only to have Peter slip away.

"Well," Hook said in his most comforting tone, "if you would like to come in and take a look for yourself, you can tell if she's yours or not."

Peter jumped up and flew away.

For a moment, Hook thought he was gone for good. But then he heard the boy land lightly on the deck.

Hook could feel his pulse race. This was it – he was going to see Alivia again. She would return to him, return to his dreams in her dark, glimmering, haunting beauty. He wanted her . . . and he did not, would not care what he had to do to get her back.

He opened the door of the cabin and strode out into the sunlight.

Peter edged back as he approached. The boy suddenly seemed to remember what had happened last time he was on the pirate ship. He began shifting back and forth on his bare feet, wanting to go forward into the cabin, but looking at Hook doubtfully.

Hook knew he must seem even bigger to the boy standing on the deck rather than sitting in a chair or leaning out the window. So he stepped back, opening the door to invite the boy into the cabin.

"I don't know," Peter bit his lip doubtfully. "Are you sure it's her?"

"It might be," Hook said, his tone implying that it was indeed his fairy.

"But what about – you know? What you said?"

"What did I say?" Hook asked innocently.

"You said –" Peter paused as if unsure about what Hook had said exactly. "You told me – I don't know. Can't you bring her out here?"

"Well, I would," Hook pretended to consider it. "But one of my crew put her in the glass bookcase and refused to open it until we know if she's yours or not."

Peter seemed to believe him for he came closer. But two feet from the threshold of the door, he stopped again.

At such a close distance, Hook could have reached out and dragged him inside. But something made him wait. He wanted the boy to cross the threshold on his own account. Even though the boy was clueless at to the fate that awaited him, Hook felt that if he could just get the boy to cross over, then Peter would have as good as agreed to his fate. The boy would have made his own choice and would have to accept the consequences of that choice.

"Your choice," Hook shrugged carelessly. "Though I'm sure my crew will try to get rid of her. Bones likes to step on bug to crush them, and Jukes shoots his gun a anything that's bright and shiny –"

"All right," Peter rushed forward. "I want my fairy back. I'll come get her."

Hook stepped back even farther, watching Peter like a hawk.

Peter was one step away. He put one foot forward, and stepped over the smooth board of the threshold. Another step, and he was past the doorway. Another, and he was inside the cabin.

Then Peter saw the sun gleaming off a silver plate in the glass cabinets.

"Tink!" he ran forward to the cabinets.

Hook quickly shut the door, locking it tightly and slipping the key into his pocket.

Peter, realizing that his fairy was not in the cabinet, whirled around to face Hook. "Where is she?"

"She must have flown away," Hook said, but he could not help smiling as he walked across the cabin. The boy had made his choice, after all. He had no one to blame but himself.

Now knowing that he had been tricked, betrayal shone in Peter's eyes. "You lied to me. You didn't have her. You lied to me."

"I am a pirate," Hook reminded him. "Truthfulness isn't exactly a prized virtue for us."

"You big bully, let me out! Let me out!" Peter cried.

"You might as well save your strength," Hook growled. "You aren't going anywhere. You're mine now, boy. You're my prisoner, and no tinkling little fairy can save you."


	4. Chapter 4 The Plan in Motion

AN: Thanks for all the great reviews. This story seems to be writing itself.

This chapter may seem a little angsty and overly emotional, but I promise the next chapter will be nicer.

Thanks a bunch

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Peter looked towards the closed door and made a mad dash for it. His dirty, bare feet shuffled and slipped over the wooden floor as he ran, but Peter reached the door and began pulling at the latch. It was locked fast of course, but Hook could not help putting his hand in his pocket and running his fingers over the edge of the key.

Peter kept tugging at the door, making pathetic little sounds of distress as he yanked his whole body against the latch and then began beating the door with his fists. Hook stood in the middle of the room and watched him. A man might have done some damage to the door if he kicked against it repetitively, but the brat couldn't make a dent in it.

Panicking, Peter ran to the window where Hook had stood to talk to him earlier. Peter rose up a few feet in the air and began pulling at the edge of the window. Hook had taken the precaution of locking the door before he let Peter in the cabin, so there was no need to worry. Peter went to each of the windows, half-running, half-flying. The windows were all locked, but Peter dashed to his last chance of escape, the closed door that led to Hook's bed cabin.

Hook had simply turned the bolt latch above the door, and Peter could have opened it with a quick turn, but in his distress, the boy couldn't figure out how to do it. Not that it really mattered; the bed cabin had a door to only one room, the small chamber that held the iron bathtub. The brat was trapped. But with his usual smart thinking, the brat ran back to the door that he had just tried forty seconds ago. He tried the door again and seemed overly distraught when it did not open.

Before he could go to all the windows and bedchamber door again, Hook decided that it was enough. "Looking for this?' Hook held up the key.

Peter saw it and bared his teeth in a snarl. "Give that to me. Let me out!"

Hook slipped it in his waistcoat pocket where the boy would have trouble pulling it out. "Well, well, well," he smiled coldly, "look who has come into Hook's clutches. Poor boy, all alone and helpless."

Peter's face looked like it was about to crumple, but he pressed his lips together to keep them from trembling. "Let me out, or else!" he yanked his little dagger out of his belt made from vines.

"Oh, a challenge," Hook idly strolled over to his desk. He reached in his top drawer and took out a pistol. It was an old flintlock, and he had no idea whether or not the gunpowder was still dry enough to catch a spark. But he pointed it at the boy and asked casually, "Do you want a bullet in your right leg or your left?"

"Now, wait a minute!" Peter protested, taking a step backwards. "I said earlier . . . we-we-we fight with swords."

"You did," Hook took one menacing step forward. "But I never agreed with you. Left or right? Or I could always put a bullet in your arm if you hold very still."

"Don't shoot me!" Peter cried. "No, don't."

"Then put your dagger on the floor," Hook directed, "and kick it over to me."

"That's not fair!" Peter protested, nearly stomping his foot. "You take my dagger, and then I have nothing."

"You're my prisoner," Hook stated flatly, "but you can decide for yourself whether you'd like to be a wounded prisoner as well. I'm taking that dagger one way or another, but I would like to keep my floor clean. Blood is hard to clean out of the wood-grain."

"You coward!" Peter spat at him.

"Still not helping yourself," Hook took another step forward. "I admit you are not going to have a great deal of choices during the near future – in fact, you're leaving here only when I decide to let you go. This may be the last choice you ever have, so use it wisely. Drop the dagger or get shot? It's your decision."

Peter made that whimpering sound again, but Hook kept the gun on him, waiting. Peter put the dagger on the floor and drew his foot back to kick it over.

"Stop!" Hook ordered. "Just walk backwards away from the dagger."

Peter did so, and Hook advanced. The brat was barefoot, and Hook did not want him to cut himself on the blade. Besides, it might scratch up the floor.

"Very well," Hook slid his gun into his leather belt and motioned for the boy to come closer.

Warily eyeing his hook, Peter shook his head.

"Come here," Hook said in a low, deadly voice.

Peter edged closer, but Hook walked towards him, hand outstretched to grab him.

"No!" Peter jerked back. "No, let me go. I hate you – I hate everyone. You're all mean and ugly, and I hate you!"

Hook clamped a hand on the back of the boy's neck. Peter immediately began to struggle, trying to push Hook off.

"You stop it right now," Hook threatened, "or I'll grab you by your hair again and pull you all over this blasted ship!"

Peter stilled his fighting for the most part, but he kept trying to shake Hook's hand of him with desperate little wiggles. "Please, let me go. I'll go away. I won't bother you. Let me go."

Hook dragged him into the middle of the room, towards the desk. Peter saw the chair that Hook had sat in to discipline him and the small wooden chair used after the punishment. Peter began to fight again, bucking backwards as he pleaded,

"No, please. Just let me go. Don't spank me again. No, I won't let you!"

"You don't really have a choice," Hook growled, dragging his squirming handful forward. He had not thought very much what he would do after this point. His main concern had been to capture the brat and hold him prisoner. But now that Peter was there, Hook wondered if he should try to scare the boy with more threats or just tip him over his knee and have at it.

But the boy was so dirty. Hook had never really thought about how or if any of the children on the island got clean, but he knew that the brat did not usually look so filthy nor smell like an alley full of pigs. And Hook hated to mess up the front of his trousers by having such a dirty creature squirming there.

So Hook kept dragging him forward. Past the chairs, past the desk, into his bed cabin, and finally into the bathing cabin. The room was about eight feet by ten, but the tub took up most the room, and there was all a small table, a chamber pot, and several large cuts of cloths for drying off. There were windows to let in light, but they were narrow panes of glass running down, too small for the brat to get through even if he broke them. Hook pushed Peter into the small room and ordered, "You sit on the floor and don't touch anything. If you break anything, you'll never sit down again."

Hook pulled the door shut and locked it with his key that fit both doors. Peter hit the door once, twice, and Hook was about to barge back in to chastise the boy, but then he fell silent. Hook waited, wondering if the boy had passed out or was just playing dead to get Hook to come back in the room. Then a sad whimpering came from behind the door, like a puppy begging for attention.

Hook smiled to himself, satisfied. He left the door to his bedchamber open as he walked to his cabin. He sat in his captain's chair and lit a cigar, enjoying the strong smell that filled the room. The cigar tasted different from the ones he had smoked on earth – these were made better and had a unique flavor that was enhanced as the faint smoke floated around his desk.

He would have to wait for Smee and the other pirates for the next bit. Yes, Hook was perfectly capable of doing things on his own ship, but he saw no use to dirty his hands. After all this was his ship, and if his crew saw him doing manual labor, they would start clamoring for democracy on the ship. Hook was not about to start that.

About an hour and three precious cigars later, he heard the crew coming back.

They were making enough noise on the beach to wake the dead, cheering about their hunt and the game they had found.

"Captain!" Bones shouted. "Rabbit for tonight. It's been three months, but we got fresh rabbit!"

Hook pressed his lips together to keep from shouting _"You blunderbuss! We haven't ever had rabbit on this island! Can you not tell tough beef from rabbit meat? I should cut your tongue out – you wouldn't notice the difference!"_

But Hook only strolled to the upper deck and looked down as his crew clamored up the gangplank, cheering and slapping each other on the back.

Starkey was holding a gray bunny in a net. And Hook again wanted to yell at them. One rabbit couldn't feed the crew and captain. It was a good thing that Smee found food somewhere; they would have all starved decades ago if left to the hunting prowess of the crew.

"Silence, you dogs!" Hook yelled, his voice ringing out over the noisy crew.

They all fell silent except for Smee who wormed his way to Starkey and tried to take the rabbit.

"I'll take you, yes, I will," Smee reached out.

"Smee, leave that animal alone!" Hook roared. "Bones, you and Starkey get fresh water heated. Fifteen buckets, all boiling and leave them outside my bed cabin door. Cookson, you and Nibbler bring ten buckets of cold water. The rest of you, get to your regular chores. Either this deck is clean, or you'll be eating off it tonight. Smee, follow me."

His arms full of the rabbit in the net, Smee tottered up the steps and followed Hook into his cabin. "Yes, captain, I'm following."

Halfway to his bed cabin, Hook stopped and turned around. "What are you really going to do with that rabbit?"

"Cook it, sir," Smee blinked from behind his round spectacles. "Cook it up fine with potatoes and parsley, yes, sir, just like last time."

"Don't lie to me!" Hook ordered. "We haven't ever had rabbit. What do you really do with the animals they catch?"

Smee shuffled nervously. "I let them go, captain, back to the woods with the little blighters. Please, captain, don't plunge your hook into me. I just can't skin the little things – an awful mess, sir, and stinks the whole galley up. We have plenty of food – we don't need to kill a bunny who won't make two mouthfuls."

Hook thought briefly about growing angry and scaring Smee half to death with the hook, but Hook decided against it. That was a game they could play another day.

"I have him, Smee," Hook confided in a low voice.

"Have another rabbit?" Smee peered up.

"No, you idiot! I have the brat, that little smart-mouthed urchin who brought us here and plagued us for years."

"Really?" Smee looked around himself as if expecting to see Peter in the room. "Where, sir?"

"In the bathing cabin," Hook smiled. "And I need you to do something for me."

It took nearly ten minutes for him to get Smee to understand, but that was long enough for by the time Hook had finished and the short man nodded in agreement, the water was ready.

Hook took the net hold the rabbit and hung the top loops of the net on a nail in the wall. Leaving the rabbit in the net to hang on the wall and wait, Hook motioned for Smee to come into the bed cabin. Unlocking the door to the bath chamber, Hook opened it slowly, wary that the boy might be waiting on the other side with a trap.

But the room looked empty. Hissing, Hook stepped into the small room. In the far corner, Peter sat huddled in a miserable, filthy ball, arms around his knees. He looked up as Hook entered with Smee. Peter pulled his knees to chest tighter, trying to disappear into the corner.

"Oh, captain," Smee said in wonder. "You do have him. What do you plan to do with him, sir? Gut him with your hook? Let him dangle with a rope around his neck while he kicks and turns red? Or have him dance around with Johnny Corkscrew sticking through his middle?"

Hook glanced uneasily at his bo'sun. Smee did not like to kill animals, but he seemed to have no qualms about hurting boys.

"I told you already," Hook reminded him. "Now, go get the water."

"Oh, aye, aye, captain," Smee saluted smartly and then ran out of the room.

Hook crossed his arms, careful to keep his hook from snagging his nice coat. The boy did not look dangerous at all now. No crowing or laughing or talking back, he seemed very small and pitiful as he huddled in the corner.

Smee carried two buckets of water into the bath cabin and poured them in iron tub, a burst of steam going up as the hot water poured out.

"Three buckets cold, seven bucket hot," Hook directed Smee, and the man nodded as he went out with the empty bucket. Each bucket held three galleons, and Hook was surprised that the short man could carry so much. He would not have reprimanded the bo'sun if he had carried only one, but Smee seemed to handle two buckets fine.

By the time Smee carried in the last two buckets, the tub was very full and a thin steam waved up off the hot warm.

Hook began to unbutton his outer coat. It was time for the big show, and Hook never liked to disappoint an audience. He took his time slipping each button out of its hole, and Peter watched with fearful eyes as he reached the end of the buttons and Smee helped him out of the coat. Savoring Peter's growing terror, Hook began to roll up the sleeve of his right arm, a hard task to do with a hook, but Hook managed. Then he rolled up his other sleeve, showing the metal of his contraption that fit over his stump. Then ever so slowly he unscrewed his hook and handed it to Smee.

Peter seemed to relax the least bit, but Hook ordered Smee, "Go fetch my silver double hook with the blunt ends."

While Smee hurried to comply, Hook began to reach for various items: a bathbrush, several small boxes of soap, and three wash rags.

"Are you going to drown me?" came a whisper from the corner.

"No," Hook could not help smirking, enjoying his role fully, "but when I'm finished with you, you'll wish I had."

It was completely overdone, and had Hook heard such a line in a play or read it in a book, he would have sneered at the speaker's lack of inventiveness. Anyone could make trite threats, the promise of violence without any actual description. But that seemed enough to scare the boy. Peter closed his mouth, and his eyes were huge and frightened.

Smee returned with the double hook, and Hook screwed it in with a vicious relish. The prongs of the hook had been blunted and shaved smooth, something the crew had worked on, melted down from the silver of the treasure that was still sitting in the hold of the ship. Each one of his hooks had been made from that treasure – his gold best one, the three silver ones, and a brass one for when the others were being cleaned. But the doubled, blunted one would serve best here as he did not want to pierce the boy with his other sharp hooks.

"Now, Smee," Hook leered at Peter, "I believe our young guest is about to have a very hard scrubbing. Would Mr. Pan like my bo'sun to stay and help, or should I do the honors alone?"

Peter glanced back and forth between the two men, desperation written all over his face. Finally, the boy choked out, "Not Smee."

"I'm so sorry," Hook turned to the short man. "I'm afraid you'll have to wait outside. But that will give you time to do the other things I told you about."

Smee followed his cue and bowed. "Yes, captain, right away, sir. I'm going."

Smee closed the door behind himself, and Hook turned to Peter.

"All right, get over here."

"What are you doing to do?" Peter whispered, shaking up on shaky feet.

"I'm going to get you a bath, you stupid brat. Haven't you ever had one?"

Peter shook his head, staring at the large iron tub. "No, the mother-girls all had us wash in the river. And when they're not here, Tink sprinkles cleaning dust on me." His bottom lip began to quiver as he remembered that his fairy was missing.

"Touching," Hook sneered. He grabbed Peter by the arm and began pulling the rags and leaves off his. Peter fought, squirming and hammering his fists against Hook, but Hook was much bigger and without his dagger Peter could not do too much. The boy kept struggling though, and after a few minutes, Hook lost his patience.

He sat down in the chair and pulled Peter over his knees. The boy realized what was about to happen, and began to wail, "Nooo! No, no, no!" as he squirmed like an eel out of water.

Hook didn't bother trapping his legs or grabbing at his hands. Instead, Hook brought a hand down hard on the boy's wriggling bottom.

"Stop fighting!" Hook ordered and smacked him again. Five very stern smacks later, Peter quieted enough for Hook to pull him off his lap. As he had feared, Peter had gotten dirt all over Hook's trousers. Hook's eyes flashed, and he considered giving Peter a full spanking just for messing up his clothes. But instead, Hook stood him up and began tearing off his rags and vines with both his hands and his hook. In a matter of seconds, Peter stood naked in the bathing cabin.

Hook ran his eyes over the boy quickly, looking for any scars or cuts that might still be festering. The boy looked normal, like most of the boys had looked when Hook went to school, but still on the childhood side of puberty. The rags had not done a lot to shield him; the rest of Peter was as dirty as his arms and lower legs. Hook even noticed bits of twigs and dirt in his hair, and he hoped the boy did not have lice.

"Get in the tub," Hook commanded.

Peter eyed the water apprehensively. "It's too hot."

Hook plunged his hand in to the water. It was very warm, but not scalding. "Get in," he ordered again. "Do not make tell you again."

Whining under his breath and looking very sad, Peter threw one leg over the high edge and then the other before sinking into the bath. The water was so deep it nearly covered Peter's shoulders, but the boy just sat there, breathing heavily with his bottom lip sticking out tragically.

Hook grabbed a wash rag and scooped up a glob of soap on the prongs on his double hook. "You splash me or fight me or do anything other than sit there quietly," Hook threatened as he thrust the rag into the water, "and I hold you under the water until you choke."

There, that was a good threat. Clear, concise, not vague at all. And Peter understood for he nodded without saying a word. Hook lathered up the wash rag and got to work. As far as he could remember, Hook could not recall ever having bathed anyone. He had an obscure memory of giving a cat a wash in a large bucket sometime before he had gone off to school, and the cat had not liked it at all. But considering that he had never given a person a bath, he felt that he did a rather good job.

Peter sat still for the most part. He did not seem to mind being naked, but he protested when Hook rubbed too hard, and he did not like it when Hook made him close his eyes so he could wash his face or scrub behind his ears. And when Hook went to wash his hair, Peter made his objections known,

"No, you're pulling! Stop! Ow, my eyes hurt!"

"Keep your eyes shut," Hook ordered, lathering the soap through the boy's hair that had turned a very dark blond with the water.

"I don't like this," Peter said woefully. "Please, let me go. I'm sorry about your hand. I really am. I didn't mean to cut it off. We were moving so fast and – uphm!" The boy sputtered as Hook poured a bucket of water over his head.

It was one of the hot water buckets, but Hook thought it had cooled enough to pour it over Peter. The boy kept trying to wipe the water out of his eyes, but Hook was not sure the soap was out. He grabbed another bucket and sloshed it over Peter as well. But this was one of the cold water buckets, and Peter gave a howl and jumped back in the tub. Water splashed all over Hook, and he glared at Peter with angry blue eyes.

"I'm sorry," Peter began, but Hook was adamant.

He grabbed Peter around the throat and pushed him back under the water. Peter began to thrash, but Hook waited four seconds before pulling him up again.

The boy was coughing and spitting out water, but Hook was not worried. He remembered swimming with other boys at Eton, and they had dunked each other under water for much longer than that.

"I told you not to splash me," Hook said sternly.

Peter looked up at with wet green eyes framed by dark lashes all clumped together. Then the boy lowered his head and started to cry. Hook resolutely finished washing him, but Peter did not resist, just sat limply and let Hook scrub as hard as he liked.

The water had turned gray, but once Hook was finished, he reached to pull the out the cloth that was wedged in the hole at the end of the tub. There was a small drain that emptied the water in the tub into the sea, something Hook had designed himself. It was quicker than emptying the tub one bucket at a time, and if the water grew too cold, he could always empty half the tub and refill in with hot water from the waiting buckets.

Peter seemed surprised that the tub had emptied so quickly, but he said nothing. And when Hook dumped the remaining buckets – two hot and the last one cold – on him to wash off the last bit of soap, Peter shivered but said nothing.

"Get out," Hook said shortly.

Peter did so, wrapping his arms around his torso as he shook silently. Hook wrapped a large cut of cloth around him and began to dry briskly, rubbing the cloth over his skin. He left the cloth wrapped around the boy and reached for another to dry his hair. Peter winced as Hook dug into his wet hair and pulled the strands into the cloth to soak up the water, but the boy said nothing.

Satisfied that his hair was dry enough for the moment, Hook put his hand on Peter's shoulder and guided him in the bed cabin. A small, makeshift bed had been put together: two squared crates alligned with large flat pillows on top along with linen and a wool blanket. The crates had been used to carry jugs of whiskey so they were very study, and along both sides of the crates, wooden poles jutted out five or six inches as handles. But Hook steered Peter over to his own huge bed where Smee had laid out a nightshirt that Hook never used.

"Arms up," Hook said. Peter complied, and Hook slipped the nightshirt over his head. The nightshirt would have barely reached Hook's knees, but it fell almost to Peter's ankles, and the sleeves hung about seven inches past Peter's hands. He looked smaller than ever, a little boy lost in a sea of white flannel. They would bother with underwear and other clothes later.

"Time to say good night to everyone," Hook said though it was only five o'clock, and the sun was just beginning to set.

Confused, Peter let Hook lead him into the main cabin where Hook's desk was. There, all the crew was lined up just as Hook had instructed Smee to arrange them. They were all talking among themselves, but they grinned as they saw Peter and a few laughed out loud.

Peter, seeing them all, turned away, trying to run back into the bed cabin. But with a sinister laugh, Hook pulled him into the main cabin room, dragging Peter with his one hand.

"Look who has been kind enough to grace us with his presence," Hook jeered, parading Peter along the line. "Mr. Peter Pan, himself, the king of this cursed island. Doesn't he look just grand to you all?"

The pirate all looked down at the little boy tugging against Hook's grip, and they broke into cruel laughter. The laughter soon evolved into catcalls.

"Look at him all dressed up!"

"Such a bloomin' little blighter. Looking like he's lost his nursemaid."

"Should put him in diapers and give him a bottle of warm milk."

"Aw, look the baby's about to cry."

Hook let the mean teasing go on, feeling that revenge was very sweet and poignant. He kept Peter far enough back that the pirates could not hit or pinch him, but he made sure that Peter faced them and heard every word. The teasing went on until Hook heard Peter sniffing back fresh tears, and then Hook held up his double hook for silence.

"All right, boy," he told Peter, "tell all these good sirs goodnight and thank them for their kindness."

"G-goodnight, sirs," Peter whispered, "and-and thank you for-for-for . . ."

He seemed unable to finish. Hook looked down at his pitiful face as tears began to well up.

"That's enough," Hook cut through the cruel laughter. "Off to the galley with all of you while I put this naughty one here to bed."

The pirates seemed confused that they weren't going to torture or kill the brat, but before they could hurt themselves with thinking, Hook commented, "It is Friday night after all."

A cheer broke out, and they scrambled out of the room, eager for the rum.

"Smee, see that they don't leave glass over the deck like last time," Hook ordered.

The short pirate dashed out of the room, leaving Hook and Peter alone.

"Come on," Hook said gruffly as he pulled Peter back to the bed cabin door. Peter went along, but stopped suddenly.

"Is that a bunny?" he pointed to the rabbit snoring in the hanging net.

"Yes," Hook snapped, "and we're going to skin it, kill it, and eat it tonight."

"O-oh!" Peter's eyes went wide with unspeakable horror.

Hook dragged Peter into the bed cabin and took a minute to collect his thoughts. He planned to go ahead and make sure the boy took a sore bottom to bed, but . . . the boy looked so miserable and tired, rubbing his eyes with one fist.

Hook sat down on the bed made of crates and pulled Peter over his lap, facedown.

"No-o-o," Peter wailed.

"This is to remind you to obey me," Hook said. He brought his hand down four times on that nightshirt-covered bottom and then stopped. Already, Peter had burst into tears and was shaking as he cried.

"Not fair, not fair!" he wailed. "Everyone's gone! Everyone's gooooone!"

Hook had no idea what to say so he simply let Peter get up, and Hook stood and pulled the covers off the bed. Peter crawled up and flopped down on the pillows, still crying. Realizing the boy was not going to do anything else, Hook covered him up with the linen sheet and warm blanket, tucking the covers around his shoulders. Peter's crying slowly turned into sniffles as he began to calm. Hook hesitated. He felt reluctant to do the next part, but he could not risk Peter waking during the night and trying to get free. Hook took a length of rope off the bed and approached the crates.

Peter's eyes had closed to slits, but he tried to rouse himself as Hook came back, staring up blankly.

"I'm not taking any chances with you," Hook told him. "Losing a hand teaches a man to be wary."

He tied one end of the rope to a handle sticking out of the crate. Then he stretched the rope across the bed and the boy and looped it around a handle on the other end. He repeated the process, tying the rope across the bed, zigzagging back and forth, until the rope ran out. Peter was tied down tight, cocooned between the pillows and the covers very snugly.

"That should hold you," Hook nodded, satisfied.

Peter made no reply. His eyelids slid shut, and his face relaxed even though tears were still on his flushed cheeks. Hook watched him, wondering if the boy were faking sleep. But Peter's breathing grew long and slow, and he snuggled down into his pillow in his sleep.

For the next few hours, Hook wandered around his cabins. He could hear the pirates corralling outside, playing instrument and singing off-key. Smee brought him some supper and tried to peek into the bed cabin, but Hook ordered him to leave.

Around midnight, the pirates outside grew quiet, having drunken themselves into a stupor, and Hook finally retired as well. There had not been a peep out of the boy – he was sleeping so soundly that Hook had to check several times that he was still alive.

In his own bed, Hook forced himself to relax. It was very odd to have someone else in his room – after so many years of sleeping alone, it was jarring to hear another person breathing beside himself.

Hook closed his eyes, exhaling deeply. And then he felt the silky cover underneath him – he felt it with both hands. Already smiling, he opened his eyes.

She was standing by the bed, her huge white wings fluttering gently behind her. She was so bright, so beautiful.

His smile grew. "Alivia," he breathed.


	5. Chapter 5 Breakfast and a Bunny

An: Another chapter, lots of fun to write. Hope you all like.

Don't own, make money, or anything special.

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For a few deliciously blissful moments, Hook just looked at her. Tall and slender, that beautiful dark hair falling around her shoulders, still in the floating white dress and enormous lacy wings fluttering behind her. It was enough to make a pious priest want her, and Hook was far from a pious priest.

"How did I ever leave you?" he wondered out loud as his eyes drank in the sight of her.

"Jamie," her voice was full of disappointment and shame. "Jamie, how could you do it again?"

"I wanted to see you," Hook began, but Alivia stepped forward angrily.

"You did more than just hurt a child this time. You humiliated him, scared him, made him miserable. How could you? How could you do that to that child?" she pointed towards the crates where Peter slept soundly.

"What?" Hook sat up, annoyed. "What is he doing here? This is dream – he shouldn't be here. I have my hand back, I have you, I don't want him! Make him go away so it can be the two of us alone."

"You are completely deranged," she spat him, hands on her hips. "You beat a child, and make him cry and beg, and then you expect me to forget it entirely."

"Yes," Hook shot back. "I am crazy. I have been for years. He brought me here, I asked to leave, he said no, we fought, and I lost my hand. Any pain I give him, he deserves."

"He doesn't understand what you lost," Alivia protested, her wings beating frantically. "He's just a child, Jamie."

"And I'm a pirate," Hook snarled at her. "You can say anything you like, but the fact is you're a dream, and in the morning, I can do whatever I like to him."

"No, you can't," she whispered, her eyes tearing.

Hook knew he was going about it all wrong. He wanted to look at her and talk to her and eventually get her to bed with him, even if it were a dream. But he couldn't stop arguing with her, fighting over the brat that Hook hated.

"I can, and I will," he retorted. "I'm going to beat him again first thing in the morning and before dinner and when he goes to bed. In between times, I'm going to chain him to the deck and make him work until his fingers bleed and he begs for mercy. Then I'm going to kick him and make him work harder."

The tears spilled down her cheeks. "You're cruel," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "You're the cruelest man alive. This is why I didn't stay with you. This is why I'll never be with you – you're a monster."

Hook looked back at her, ignoring the pain ripping through his chest, making it hard to breathe. "My cruelty is the only reason you came back. I hurt him, and you came to me. I did it again, and you came back. What if I do it again, and again, and again? Would you still come back?"

"I would come back every night," she said through red, trembling lips. "I would never leave you if I could. But just as last time, something let me through."

"Through what?"

Alivia shook her head. "I cannot say. But I will come, Jamie, I will come to you if I can. Just don't hurt him."

Hook met her eyes, but promised nothing.

"Oh," Alivia covered her face with her slim, shaking hands, "why must you be so stubborn? I know you are angry, but why, Jamie? Why must you take it out on others? You could have been happy here – you still could be. Fairies, mermaids, golden sunsets, fountains of water – a child's perfect fantasy."

"I'm not a child," Hook said quietly.

"But you could be happy," she insisted, dropping her hands.

"Happy?" he growled. "Happy? I was happy with you! I am happy with you. You – that's all I ever wanted. You, Alivia. But I have nothing of you, nothing, nothing!"

"You have everything," her voice grew hard, filled with passion. "But it is never enough. Would you have acted this way with our children?"

Hook froze, unable to think of anything to say.

"Well, would you?" she demanded. "Would have hurt them? Would you have beaten them, yelled at them, humiliated them, scared them? Would you have been a bully to them and a monster to me? Well?"

"I would have died for you," Hook said tightly.

"But you won't live for me," Alivia cried. "You don't care about my feelings or anyone else's. You selfish brute!"

Hook got out of bed and stormed towards her. He half-expected her to disappear in a glow of light, but she stood there, resilient and proud. He was taller than she was, but Alivia did not back down even as he came closer. And he loved her more for that, her strength to stand up to him, yell at him, blame him, but never fear him.

"I would do anything to see you again," he said hoarsely. "You are me – you are my heart, and joy, and life, and anything that I would ever be. You may love me or leave me or hate me, but you are in me, now and forever."

Tears spilled down her cheeks again. "Jamie, my Jamie," she reached a hand up to touch his face.

And Hook opened his eyes to the morning light.

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He lay there for a while, watching the light fill the windows. His silent clock read half past six, but he was in no hurry to get up. He lifted his arms up, noting that his left hand was gone again. He had grown used to it being gone, but it was unsettling to have it come back in these dreams.

A whimper came from the side of the room.

Hook sat up, momentarily startled. Who was in his room?

And then he saw that the brat was awake, squirming in his bed under the covers and the ropes.

"It's not time to get up yet," Hook said sharply.

Peter whined a little, "Please, I have to – to, you know –"

Hook blinked. The boy had gone to bed by five-thirty last night. It was now six-thirty, eleven hours later . . . it made sense that he would need to relieve himself.

"Fine," Hook groused as he got off his bed. "But you better behave."

Peter nodded the least bit.

Hook walked to the crates and began untying the ropes. Peter was silent, but his eyes remained on Hook's stump, watching fearfully. The boy had never seen the bare stump before, Hook wagered, just the hook attached to the contraption. Hook also didn't have a shirt on, but he doubted that Peter felt bothered by that.

The last rope came off, and Hook yanked off the covers. Peter sat up and rubbed his eyes. His hair, still wet when he had gone to bed last night, had dried and now stuck up at odd angles. The nightshirt had twisted all around him, and Peter tried to pull it down as he got out of bed. His attempt at modesty made Hook almost smile. The boy must have forgotten that Hook had given him a bath the night before.

Hook clamped a hand on Peter's shoulder and led him to the bathroom. "Take care of your needs. Then come back out."

Hook closed the door to give the boy some privacy, but he didn't move away. Several minutes of silence passed, and then Hook heard a low pounding noise.

He opened the door to see Peter banging his fist against the locked window, trying to get to open.

"Ah, being naughty already?" Hook observed.

Peter whirled around. He was fully awake now, and no longer needing the bathroom, he turned all his attention to Hook. "Let me go. You kept me here all night, and I was sleeping very good, and now let me go."

"Did I not explain this last night?" Hook asked lightly. "You are my prisoner. You are not going anywhere. We are going to find you something to wear, and then you are getting some breakfast. If you fight me, there will be no breakfast, and I may not let you wear any clothes the whole day. Believe me, pirates are not kind, and if they see a naked boy onboard, they will mostly likely want to stripe your body with their belts or fists or ropes. Do you want to be beaten by pirates?"

Peter shook his head quickly.

"Then no arguing," Hook pointed back to the bedroom, and Peter followed miserably.

As he followed the boy, Hook realized that he not really thought this ahead. His goal had been to see Alivia again. He had seen her, and now it was morning. What now? There wasn't much point in turning the boy loose; Hook would have to catch him again to see Alivia. But if he kept Peter onboard permanently – what then? Hook didn't really want to kill him. If he kept hurting Peter, it might be fun for a while, but sooner or later Hook knew he would tire of the crying. Hearing someone suffer was grand for an hour or two, but for it to keep going and going, without end -! Maybe it would easier to kill him.

As they entered the bedroom, Hook saw that someone had brought the rabbit still in the net into his room and hung it off his door handle. Hook was not sure why. Did the pirates hope that he would kill the rabbit in front of the boy just to scare him? Hook thought he was pretty frightening without torturing a rabbit, thank you very much!

"The bunny's still alive?" Peter glanced at up him.

"Not for long," Hook said. "Stand still while I find you something to wear."

Hook began rifling through his clothes, looking for trousers that could be taken in and a shirt that was not too long. Then he heard something moved behind him, and he whirled around.

Peter was sitting on the bed of crates, his eye very wide and breathing hard. But the net hanging from the door was empty.

"Where's the rabbit?" Hook demanded.

"I don't know," Peter answered in a voice that was higher than usual.

Hook took a step towards him.

"I don't know," Peter protested.

But the covers beside him began to move, a lump underneath wiggling.

"Pull back the covers," Hook ordered.

"No," Peter said, but he looked scared.

"Do it now," Hook said, his voice like steel.

Whining a bit, Peter pulled back the covers back. The gray rabbit scooted out and began sniffed the pillows with a velvety nose.

Hook growled and pulled Peter up by the arm. He tucked the boy against his side with his maimed arm and brought his right hand down on the boy's squirming bottom.

"No – lying – to - me," Hook ordered, punctuating each word with a smack.

"Ow, ow!" Peter cried. "Stop!"

Hook sat Peter down on the crates and reached for the rabbit.

"No," Peter objected, grabbing the rabbit and holding him tight in both arms. "No, don't kill him. You can spank me again, but don't kill him."

Hook rolled his eyes. He was surrounded by bleeding hearts. Don't hurt this, don't kill that – everyone expected him to turn soft.

"Fine, you want him to live?" Hook challenged. "Then I kill you instead. Sound fair?"

Peter's bottom lip trembled, but he stepped forward, squeezing his eyes shut as if expecting to by cut down right then and there.

"Oh, stop it," Hook said crossly. "I don't have time for your theatrics. Put the rabbit down and get dressed."

"I don't want him to be eaten," Peter said, but he put the rabbit down on the crates. The rabbit immediately began to hop around on the covers, sniffing and wriggling its little nose.

"No one wants to eat that rabbit," Hook growled as he yanked the nightshirt off the boy. Peter turned to make sure his rabbit was still all right, and Hook pressed his lips to keep from smiling. Though he had smacked the boy over the nightshirt, Hook could plainly see four handprints on that pale bottom, two on each side.

Peter watched his rabbit as Hook got him into the trousers and tied them up with a cut rope. The white shirt was almost as long as the nightshirt, but Hook told Peter to roll up the sleeves. Hook was buttoning the length of buttons in front when the rabbit, in its inquisitiveness, went too far and tumbled off the crates on the other side.

"Bunny!" Peter cried, pulling away from Hook to rescue the animal.

"Stay still," Hook caught Peter's arm and dragged him back. "It's a rabbit – he's fine. They're always tumbling abound and falling."

"Oohh," Peter complained, but he waited as Hook finished buttoning before rushing over to look behind the crates. As Hook has said, the rabbit was fine, now sniffing along the floor. Peter scooped him up and held him close.

They made an odd picture – Peter in pirate clothes that were much too big, holding a rabbit as if the animal were the most important thing in the world to him.

"He's hungry," Peter glanced down at his armful.

"Let him starve," Hook shrugged. My, but it felt good to be contrary this early in the morning! He wondered if he could make the boy cry again before breakfast.

"No, we have to feed him," Peter objected, still hugging the rabbit. "I don't want him to die."

"He's not eating. And if I see you feeding him anything, I'm going to drop him over the side of the ship."

Peter stared up at Hook, then swallowed hard. "You're so mean," he muttered.

"I know, and I'm about to get meaner if you don't shut up," Hook retorted. "But I won't let you starve. Which would you like for breakfast? Fish heads or burnt cow's tongue?"

With a whimper, Peter tried to sniff back tears. But two big tears rolled down his cheeks, and he lowered his head to rub his cheek against the rabbit for comfort.

"_I am good,"_ Hook reflected to himself. He pulled a shirt over his own head and buttoned it before he grabbed Peter by the arm and pulled him into the main cabin. A table was set up beside the desk, and Smee was setting covered dish on the table.

"Morning, Cap'n," Smee said cheerfully. "I just took the liberty of cooking some breakfast for you and the boy."

"Good," Hook shoved Peter into a chair.

"Ah, you found the bunny," Smee nodded to the rabbit. "Shall I take him and put him in the bedroom while you eat?"

"No," Peter said shortly, pulling away from Smee's waiting hands.

"Peter," Hook said sternly, "give him the rabbit."

Hook wasn't sure if it was his foreboding look or using the boy's name for the first time, but Peter reluctantly handed over the rabbit.

Hook yanked the covers off their plates. His own plate held eggs and muffins and bacon and fried potatoes, but Peter had a bowl of thick porridge with two corners of toast – child's breakfast all around. Hook had tea and ale to drink, but Peter had a cup of milk.

"Enjoy," Smee said as he left bedroom, heading for the deck.

"You didn't poison his food, did you?" Hook asked as he picked up his fork.

Peter gasped, but Smee just chuckled, "Oh, Cap'n" and left without another word.

"Is it poisoned?" Peter asked Hook anxiously.

"You'll never know unless you eat it," Hook said with a cold smirk. He began to eat his own food while Peter looked down at his food hungrily, but fearfully. The boy so desperately wanted to eat, but he couldn't make himself.

"Don't you want breakfast?" Hook asked gently, knowing his words were nothing but torture. "Don't you want to eat that hot porridge? Oh, look there's a little cream and honey on top. And the toast has butter and a bit of marmalade. Doesn't that look delicious? You aren't hungry, not the least bit?"

Miserable and unhappy, Peter picked up his spoon, dipped it into the porridge, and put it in his mouth. He swallowed it and waited, breathlessly.

As Hook had been certain, nothing happened.

"Stop acting like a baby, and eat," he ordered Peter. "I'm tired of watching you cry and pout. You eat up and shape up, or you're going over my knee after breakfast."

Peter did not need a second invitation. He began spooning up the porridge as fast as he could.

"Stop!" Hook thundered.

Peter jumped in his seat. "What?"

"This may be a pirate ship, but I am the captain and you will show respect while we are eating," Hook ordered. "You will have good manners, you slovenly pig."

For the rest of the meal, he picked on Peter – the way he sat, the way he held the spoon, the way he chewed, holding his napkin, drinking his milk. By the end of the meal, Peter's food was all gone, but he didn't look like he had enjoyed any of it.

Hook marched him back into the bedroom to wash his hands from water in the stone pitcher. Hook poured water in the bowl under the pitcher and reached for a folded cloth. He turned to tell the boy to hurry up when he saw Peter kneeling and feeding a piece of toast to the rabbit. The boy must have snitched some from the table when Hook had grabbed the napkin that the boy had dropped.

"What did I say about feeding that thing?" Hook bellowed.

Peter jumped up, grabbed the rabbit, and dashed for the door. They made it to the main cabin, but Hook grabbed Peter by the back of the shirt before he could make it to the next door. As he held the struggling boy, Hook toyed with the idea of tossing the rabbit overboard. He could stand on deck, dangling the animal out over the water while Peter begged him to stop. The boy would know he meant what he said then.

But Hook grabbed Peter by the ear and marched him to the corner before taking the rabbit. "You stand here," he pushed Peter's head into the corner, "and if I hear a single word, you will be a very sorry little boy."

"Please don't drown the bunny," Peter pleaded, his voice oddly muted as he stood in the corner.

Hook turned around without another word and carried rabbit away. Making sure the boy wasn't turning around, Hook stood by the table and scooped up a handful of leftover food. Holding the rabbit in his maimed arm, he raised his handful of food to let the rabbit eat. The boy was so stupid to think that a crust of bread would satisfy a rabbit for the rest of the day. Stupid, stupid boy.

Once the rabbit seemed to lose interest in the food, Hook locked the door to the deck before carrying the rabbit back to the bed cabin. He lifted up one of the crates and prodded the rabbit underneath it. It wasn't an ideal place to put a rabbit, but it would do until they found something better. The rabbit would likely be more trouble than he was worth, but it could be used to make the boy suffer. At least, that's what Hook told himself to excuse keeping a rabbit onboard his ship.

"You may come out of the corner," he told Peter as he strode back into the main cabin.

Peter did so, noticing that the rabbit was gone but saying nothing.

"Sit in the chair in front of my desk," Hook motioned to the hard little chair. "I am going to give some orders to the crew, but you better stay there or else. I will be gone for a while, but you are not to touch anything. And," he paused by the door, "Bunny is a ridiculous name for a rabbit. Name him something else."

"Floppy?" Peter asked, lifting his head towards Hook.

Hook's eyes narrowed. "No."

"Cuddles?"

"Try again," Hook ground out.

"Minty?"

"What?" Hook demanded, not sure he had heard right.

"I once had some candy, and it was minty, and I liked it," Peter explained.

"That is stupid," Hook said flatly. "You might as well name it Sugar or Chocolate or Caramel-Covered Toffee!"

Peter set his mouth stubbornly. "It Minty or Cuddles."

Hook growled, but said, "Fine. I don't have time to stand here and argue with you. Name it Minty, and leave it alone. You sit there and be quiet."

"For how long?" Peter asked, already shifting.

Hook smiled. "Not too long. When I come back, I am going to put my hook on. And then we are going to have a school lesson. It's time you learn to read."

Peter's mouth fell open in horror.

Hook grinned evilly and shut the door, locking it behind him. Then he stepped out on the deck to face his crew, feeling more powerful than he had in years.


	6. Chapter 6 Lesson and Panic

AN: Hello all. Sorry this took so long for me to post. I had a bit of trouble figuring out how this chapter would go. Hopefully, the next one will be coming soon.

My CP warning still remains, and for those of you that think Hook is a little too harsh, you should read _Capt. Hook: Adventures of a Nortorious Youth_. The caning scene in that makes everything I write seem very tame.

Disclaimer: I don't own, or make any money.

Tell me what you think. I've started taking people's ideas into consideration when writing, which has been a great exercise. Anything you'd like to see happen? Review and tell me.

Thanks!

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Facing his crew without his usual clothes or his hook was not something Hook liked to do. He preferred to wear his stylish captain's clothes, adorned with the rich, vibrant colors that told of his prestige and power. But he needed to call Smee to help him get the hook contraption on. If he really needed to, Hook knew he could position the contraption over his shoulder and tighten the straps with only one hand, but Smee could do it so quickly, accomplishing in matter of seconds what would take Hook several awkward minutes.

The sun was shining as he stepped on the deck, but Hook ignored it, glaring down at his crew.

They were standing about in huddled bunches, murmuring among each other quietly. Hook knew what that kind of grouping belied – every few months they would get like that, sullen and bunching together to talk in low whispers. They were planning mutiny.

On a regular day, this would not have bothered him so greatly. Usually, their mutiny went one of three ways. The first was an all out-and-out rebelling – swords drawn, pistols waving in the air, daggers gleaming. They would rush at Hook's cabin, yelling and shouting and swearing, and a brawl would commence. It usually meant a broken chair or two, and everyone got punched or elbowed in the tussle. Hook would snarl at them, threaten to slice them into tiny pieces and hang their innards from the main mast, and they would yell that they were going to feed him to the crocodile – all sorts of lovely things shouted out. Finally, Hook would plunge his hook in someone, whoever was standing the closest. It wasn't ever a deep plunge, sometimes just enough to scrap the skin. But seeing blood was enough to put an end to all the mutinying. The pirate unfortunate enough to get cut would start bellowing that he was bleeding, and all the crew would sober right up, staring at whatever wound Hook had inflicted. Then came the punishment. Sometimes it was extra work, sometimes it was rationed privileges, and sometimes he took out his leather whip and gave them all a cut of it and sent them to their hammocks whimpering.

The second way of mutiny involved two or three pirates setting off on their own without telling anyone. They would wander the island, determined to make a new colony for themselves. By the next day, or often that same night, they would return to the ship, tired and hungry, ready to slink back to their old jobs. Hook varied between ignoring them or making examples of them so no man would ever dare abandon his post again.

The third way wasn't even really mutinying, but it was far more annoying. It was lots of grumbling, petty whispers and pouts that went on and on, downing everyone's spirits until Hook threatened to cut the tongue out of the next pirate to complain.

So only three ways of mutinying, but Hook did not have time to deal with any of them. He had a stroppy brat in his cabin whom he knew would rebel sooner or later, eventually. Peter's quiet behavior did not fool Hook for a second. He was sure that the boy would return to his old, arrogant, rude little self – Peter was just biding his time. And until then Hook did not have time to play mutiny with the pirates.

"Listen, all of you," he bellowed, his voice cracking over the ship and catching every pirate's attention. "I have something to say, and I will only say it once. I have the brat, aye, but what's to be done with him is my choice and mine alone. As you stand there, challenging my authority, I am concocting a plan to get us off this cursed island."

A cheer rose from the men, but Hook held up his hand, ordering silence.

"I plan to use everything I can to get him to tell us the way out of here, but I will brook no interference from any of you. You get in my way – I will rip out your throat with my hook."

He must have looked fierce as he said, though he was wearing only a loose shirt, trousers, and boots.

"Aye, aye, sir," the pirates murmured, none of them daring to meet his flashing eyes.

"I have spoken," Hook glanced over all of them one last scathing time before returning to his cabin.

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"No," Peter shook his head stubbornly, "I won't."

Hook raised an eyebrow at the boy. "I did not give you a choice. Sit down at the table right now."

The boy crossed his arms, his whole stance saying _"Make me!"_

"Let me put it this way," Hook told him. "You can sit down now or you can sit down in five minutes with a very sore bottom. It's your choice."

"I don't want to learn to read," Peter protested, but he edged closer to the chair.

"I don't believe I asked if you wanted to," Hook mused, straightening a pile of book resting on the small table where Peter would received his first lesson. "As a matter of fact, I really don't care about anything you ever want. My sole existence now is to make you as miserable as I possibly can. How am I doing thus far?"

Peter glared at Hook with more animosity than Hook had ever seen in a child. "You wait, you old codfish, you wait until Tink comes back. Then I can fly again, up, up to the stars! And I'll fly around so many times you'll get dizzy and fall over. I can talk to the stars and the moon and I'm the greatest, bestest –ow!"

Hook drew his hand back from where he had just smacked the boy on the rear. "'Bestest' is not a word. Now, sit down before you cause me to lose my temper completely."

Rubbing a little and defiantly pouting, that impish mouth tugged down at the edges, Peter sat and glared at the books in front of him.

Hook tried not to look too pleased. He knew that before the lesson was over dear Peter would be getting a full spanking – Hook knew the boy couldn't control himself, not once Hook presented him with the alphabet and had him start writing his letters on paper.

Sure enough, Peter could barely sit still as Hook wrote out the alphabet in large cursive letters. Hook was rarely modest about his own talents, but the matter of his writing his high esteem of his penmanship was accurate. He could flourish the pen in graceful swoops and curves, making the R dangle its foot out precariously and the S lean forward while tilting its top loop back. Alivia had admired his writing.

"Oh, Jamie," she had exclaimed one afternoon while they were sharing tea under a large elm, just the two of them, "your writing!"

She had snatched up the sheet of poetry which he had accidentally dropped from a satchel of books. Gazing down at it, she had smiled. "So beautiful, so wonderfully done."

"Really?" he had turned towards her with eager, yet shy fascination. "You like it?"

"I adore it," she had looked at him, long lashes over soft eyes, all under that wonderful mane of black hair that made his hands itch to touch it. "It is simply divine, so wonderfully lovely."

"You think my poetry is good?" he had leaned towards her, hoping for a kiss from those full, luscious lips.

"Poetry?" she had glanced back at the page. "Oh, it is poetry. I'm certain it's all very well, but the penmanship! Jamie, your penmanship is nearly perfectly. Look at it, every line, every curve. I have never seen anything so gorgeous in my entire life as this beautiful writing."

He had wanted her to pay attention to the poem, inspired by her, written in her honor, but she had been fascinated by the penmanship, not the actual words. He had wanted to read her the poem, but her father came home early, and he was forced to make a run for it, climbing a high stone wall to escape being seen.

"I don't know!" Peter protested, jerking Hook back to the present, away from the memory and beautiful Alivia. "And I don't want to know."

"Look," Hook growled, glancing back down at the paper. "Twenty-six letters in the alphabet, twenty-one consonants, five vowels. You're going to learn to say them and write them today."

As he wrote out the last of the letters, Hook tried to remember how his old schoolmaster had taught him to read. He couldn't picture the man's face, but he could remember the man's cold voice, barking out questions to the nervous students. Hook had never really been scared like the other boys had; Hook made it a point of knowing his lessons so when called he could swagger up to the front and answer perfectly. Other students would stumble up to recite, their bodies quivering as they stammered out answers to the master's questions. Hook had always felt a sort of satisfaction when they got caned or slapped with the ruler. He half-hoped they would learn to study instead of playing or idling their time away, but part of him relished being the brightest in the class, the one the master always looked upon with approval.

Now the master himself, Hook dragged the morning lesson out as long as he could. He thought the boy should also learn arithmetic and some history, just to flesh out his education, but there would be time for that later. Right now, he focused on getting the brat to learn his letters. After writing and saying them for a hour, he told Peter to stand up and to recite them.

"Shan't," Peter said obstinately, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair.

"Beg your pardon?" Hook raised his eyebrow.

"Beg all you want," Peter smirked. "I'm not getting up."

A second later, he found himself jerked up and then tossed over Hook's lap.

"Well?" Hook challenged, giving Peter a slight shake. "Should I continue what you know I'm about to do, or are you going to say them on your own?"

"Are you going to spank me for everything?" Peter cried out in frustration. "Anything I don't do, I get spanked?"

"Why not?" Hook asked with a smile. "After all these years, I deserve to have a bit of fun with you. If that means tanning your hide every hour, so be it."

Peter began sniffing. "Not fair," he whimpered. "Not fair at all."

"Life is not fair," Hook told him bluntly. "I should have married a woman who left me. I should have stayed in England, but I came here. I should have both hands, but you cut one off. Is that fair?"

He shook Peter once. "Is it?"

Peter shook his head, whispering, "No."

"Are you going to stand up and do what I say, or do you want me to give you something to cry about?"

"Stand up," Peter opted pitifully.

Hook pushed him up, but made Peter stand within arms' reach to recite. It took twelve times before Peter could say it all the way through without messing up. He kept tripping over M, N ,O, P, but Hook kept him at it.

". . . V, W, X, Y, Z," Peter finished. He hesitated, then smiled at little. "I said it. I said it all the way through without stopping! Oh, I'm so clever! The cleverness of me. Forever me, me, me! I'm the greatest in the whole –"

"You said the alphabet," Hook interrupted dryly. "Any child of five can do that, and you're much older that that."

"I am not," Peter protested, his eyes flashing. "I'm very young."

"In years, you're very not young at all. In appearance, I'd put you at ten or eleven, maybe a little more or less. You're growing up."

Peter began to pale and he backed away in horror. "Am not," he whispered.

"Yes, you are," Hook grinned as he stood up. "You keep visiting earth, and the days have started to add up. You'll keep going there and getting a little older with every visit. In the end, you'll be as old as I am."

"Stop it," Peter protested.

"You'll get taller," Hook continued, relishing the boy's torment. "You'll grow hair on your face. Your voice will get deeper. But worst of all, worst than anything else –" Hook paused for dramatic effect.

"Yes?" Peter squeaked anxiously.

"You'll want to stop playing," Hook smiled cruelly as Peter's eyes widened with unspeakable terror. "You'll start thinking about working and serious things like money and having a family and telling children to be quiet and . . . " Hook tried to think of anything else that might scare the boy. What else did adults do that children would hate?

"No, stop it!" he ordered.

"That's really too bad," Hook told him. "You will grow up whether you like it or not."

"No, no, no!"

"Argue all you like," Hook crossed his arms easily. "You can't stop it not matter how hard you try."

But Peter was already too upset. He began breathing shortly, panting with his dread of growing up. He started backing up, making little noise of distress. "No, no," he begged. "Please, no, I don't want to . . . but everyone left. They're all gone. I have to go back if I ever want to see anyone else. I can't . . just can't . . ."

He was wheezing now, and though his face was pale, his cheeks turned red as he struggled to breathe in air.

"I can't breathe," he gasped, looking up at Hook. "What's happening – to – me? I can't . . ."

Hook watched him, feeling the least bit worried. This was not the result he had wanted; he wanted the boy on edge, to be sure, wanted him nervous and miserable. Hook did not want Peter to faint away and he most certainly did not want the child in the middle of a full-fledged panic attack.

"Hook, please," Peter cried. The wheezing noises grew louder, air rasping in his throat.

"Good grief, boy," Hook stepped towards him. "Breathe! Calm down, and just breathe!"

Peter clutched at his throat, eyes filled with terror as he struggled to draw in air. His face was very red, and he looked on the verge of losing consciousness.

"Stupid boy," Hook growled, but he picked Peter up by the waist and carried him towards a chair. Peter didn't even try to fight back. Hook sat down and then sat Peter on his lap, turning Peter's back to rest against Hook's chest.

"Breathe," Hook ordered firmly. He grabbed Peter's hands and held them both in his one hand. With his hooked arm, he pressed the boy against his chest tightly. He could feel the child's heart hammering in his chest.

"Feel me breathe," Hook told Peter. "Now, you breathe like I do, in and out. Come on. No, no squirming. You're not going anywhere until you breathe right."

Peter felt tense, but he began to breathe along with Hook. His breaths felt labored and short at first, but eventually Hook felt him begin to relax as his lungs resumed their usual in-and-out activity. Peter's heart began to slow, but Hook did not release him, afraid the boy might resume his panic once let go.

Peter shifted the least bit, not comfortable being so close to his archenemy. Hook took the opportunity to say in a gentle, admonishing tone,

"Now, now, what was all that about?"

"I don't know," Peter confessed, blushing slightly.

"Quite naughty," Hook _tsk_ed, shaking his head. "Throwing a tantrum in the middle of your lesson."

"You scared me," Peter objected softly. Hook's grip on his hands has loosened, and Peter absentmindedly played with the fringe of Hook's coat, running his fingers over the gold weave.

"I was telling you the truth," Hook scolded. "I didn't expect you to throw such a fit."

"Sorry," Peter turned his head away, leaning into Hook's shoulder. He couldn't seem to make himself look at Hook as he continued to fiddle with the coat edge.

For some very strange reason, Hook felt an urge to pat the boy on the shoulder and tell him that everything would be all right. Hook ignored the feeling and released the boy, nudging Peter off his lap.

"No more of that nonsense," Hook objected, "or you'll find yourself over my lap again, but the wrong way, face-down."

Peter nodded glumly. He seemed more scared of his panic attack and what it had felt like than Hook's threats to spank him. He stood there awkwardly, not knowing what to do.

"Let's have some dinner," Hook opted. "Then we can start on the rest of our lessons."

Peter's face fell, but he made no comment.

------

The day past quickly for Hook, but he was sure it dragged by for his sulky charge. Peter did not like sounding out each letter anymore than he liked writing them or reciting them. But he did as he was told, quiet but sullen. Towards the end of the day, Hook put him to work shining his boots.

"Will not!" Peter exclaimed when Hook showed him the boots and greasy blackening powder.

"It's a simple chore," Hook told him. "Any cabin boy would do it for the captain."

"I'm not a cabin boy!" Peter protested. "Not, not, not ever!"

"You'll do this or – or," Hook cast about for a good threat, "or I'll skin that bunny in front of you."

"You wouldn't hurt Minty?" Peter was aghast.

"And make you eat him for supper," Hook continued.

Peter's lip quivered, but he nodded reluctantly. "All right, I'll do your stupid work. Can Minty sit beside me while I do it?"

Hook thought about refusing, but he saw no reason the bunny couldn't stay beside the boy while he was working. Peter might have more cause to work quietly, and Hook needed a break from him. Bullying the brat was more exhaustive than Hook ever imagined.

So Peter sat down on the bare floor with the pairs of boots, blackening powder, and bunny beside him. Hook showed him how to rub the powder onto the shoes and to buff the leather to a shiny black.

"Your fingers will get black, but we can wash them later," Hook told him. "I'm going outside to check on my crew. You better keep working or it will be trouble."

Peter stuck his lip out, but said nothing as he started working.

Hook went outside where the crew was lolling about. As soon as they saw him, they pretended to be working, moving about quickly, careful not to look at him.

He knew what they were up to, but he made no comment. For the thousandth time, he considered killing them all. Maybe pulling out far to sea and having them walk the plank with iron balls chained to their feet to pull them down to the bottom of the ocean . . . Ah, one could dream.

He called out some orders about trimming the sails and repairing a rail that really didn't need repairing, but Hook thought it looked a bit crooked.

He walked back and forth on the upper deck, surveying his crew who was really doing anything, just moving around and carrying ropes. As he passed the closed door to his cabin, he heard Peter crying out,

"No, no, Minty! Don't knock that bottle over. Oh, look what you did! Bad bunny! Stop – you're getting it everywhere. Stupid bunny!"

Hook unlocked the door and barged in. He saw the blackening bottle rolling on the floor, the thick greasy powder all over the place. Peter was chasing the bunny who had the black powder all over his furry paws and who was trampling it into Hook's fine rug under his desk.

The rabbit scooted under the desk, and Peter followed him. But the boy bumped into the desk, and papers went flying.

"Peter!" Hook bellowed.

Immediately, Peter came out from under the desk, clutching the bunny to his chest. But the rabbit was squirming, and Hook could see that Peter had black smears all over his white shirt.

With a growl, Hook stepped forward and reached his one hand out towards the frightening boy and wriggling bunny.


	7. Chapter 7 Confusion

AN: Well, another chapter – I'm on a roll.

Disclaimer: Don't own, don't make any money, and don't get to fly, either.

Warning: No real spanking in this chapter other than a few swats.

Thanks for reading.

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Hook stared at the mess for about five seconds before giving the brat a deathly gaze. He had looked at the boy like that before, giving him the stern, evil eye, but Peter had been flying in the air then or trooping along with a handful of noisy brats or accompanied by a tiny fairy. Now armed with a bunny, Peter shrank back, doing his best to look invisible.

"Who made this mess?" Hook asked ominously.

"Minty," Peter said, holding out the bunny. Then he thought about it and drew the bunny tight to his chest, saying, "No, me! I made the mess. Only – not me."

"Which is it?" Hook raised an eyebrow, curious to see what the boy would say before Hook threatened him further.

"Accident!" Peter declared, shifting foot to foot. "Just an accident."

Hook took a step forward, and Peter recoiled.

"No, don't spank me," he begged.

Hook had been planning to do just that, but it was only mid-afternoon and he doubted that a spanking now would last long enough to have the boy sad that night which he had to be in order to bring Alivia back. Hook sighed; his life had become so very restrictive – one thing needed to make another thing happen.

"Into my bed cabin," Hook ordered. "Put the bunny in the basket," he pointed to an empty basket on the table, "and get yourself into my cabin. Now!"

"Big meanie," Peter muttered, but he placed Minty carefully into the basket and trudged into Hook's bedroom.

Hook followed him. "Take your shirt off," Hook directed, "and I'll have it washed."

Peter unbuttoned the shirt very reluctantly and tugged it over his head. He held it out timidly towards Hook, jumping back the moment Hook took it out of his hands.

Hook thought for a moment, then a truly diabolical idea presented itself to him. He grinned evilly and took a short length of rope from a nearby chair and approached Peter.

"Hands in front of you."

"Don't hurt me," Peter pleaded. "I said I was sorry, and you're just an old ugly pirate who is the meanest man ever."

"Oooo," Hook mocked him. "That hurts so badly I can scarcely bear it. Hands out."

Peter had wrapped his arms around his torso to keep warm in the cool cabin, but he stuck his hands out, his eyes flashing defiantly.

With the long practice of using his one hand and his hook, Hook looped the rope around the boy's wrists twice and tugged on it to ensure that the rope was tight but not biting into his skin.

"Up on your bed," Hook nodded towards the two crates.

Most of the blackening powder had been on Peter's shirt, and Hook knew it wouldn't stain the blanket on the crate too badly.

Without the use of his hands, it took Peter a moment to wiggle himself backwards up on the crate and then watched Hook apprehensively.

Hook sat on the edge of the crate and suddenly twisted his hook around the rope and push his arm out, jerking Peter out on the bed with his arms raised high above his head.

Peter gasped, his eyes wide and scared, as he stared down at his own bare torso. Hook read the fear in those eyes and knew the boy was wondering what torture he would inflict on the helpless boy.

Hook waited a second, letting the boy's terror mount, and then he reached down and lightly ran his fingers down Peter's right ribs.

Peter let out a loud squeal, a huge grin appearing on his face as he tried to squirm away.

Hook smirked and began tickling the boy's other side.

"Oh-ho-ho, stop!" Peter laughed as he tried to get away from the tickling. The fear had left his eyes, and he could only grin and giggle.

Hook smirked even more. He remembered his old nurse who had liked to tickle him when she thought he was too serious for a little boy. Hook recalled with disgust the way she had trapped him on his bed and tickled him. It had been bad enough that she insisted he sit in her lap to read storybooks or that she wanted to rock him to sleep every night in the big soft chair beside his bed. But when she tickled him, she liked to taunt him in that babyish voice, adding insult to injury by asking if he was her "Tweet, widdle tickle boy, yes he was, so ticklish!" Hook remembered how angry and helpless the tickling had made him feel as he lay at her mercy, and he was certain that the brat felt the same way now.

Only . . . Peter didn't seem to be screaming as much as Hook thought he would. Oh, he was wriggling back and forth, trying to avoid the tickling, and he laughed and grinned because he had to, but Peter did not seem wildly crazy the way Hook remembered feeling.

Hook reached down to tickle slight bit of baby fat under Peter's navel, and the boy laughed louder, bursting out sweet laughter that resounded through the room. But still the boy didn't seem angry.

Peter seemed to have trouble breathing after the last attack, and Hook removed his hand to give him a break, but watching the boy carefully.

Peter's chest heaved as he caught his breath, and he still giggled reflectively though Hook's hand wasn't anywhere near his body. He smiled, his eyes soft and gentle, but he made no movement to fight the rope around his wrists.

Confused, Hook lifted his hand and brought it back, towards Peter's ribs.

The boy jerked instinctively, but rather than edge away, Peter leaned his face towards Hook, almost burying it in the side of Hook's knee. Peter scrunched his face up, squeezing his eyes shut, but his lips were twitching into a smile as he waited for the tickling to start again.

Completely at a lost to what was going on, Hook began tickling his sides again. Peter burst into laughter, but when he moved, it was not frantic writhing or thrashing, but rather he kept turning his body towards Hook, almost inviting more tickling.

After about five minutes, Hook gave up. He stopped tickling and loosened the rope from Peter's wrists.

Instead of leaping off the bed, Peter hugged his freed arms around his body, lifting playful eyes up to Hook. A smile still hovered on the boy's lips.

Hook stood, feeling like a complete idiot as he had no idea if he had punished the boy or amused him. Fortunately, the brat chose that moment to yawn, and Hook immediately said, "Time for a nap."

"Aww," Peter complained.

"No, naptime," Hook insisted, covering him up with the blanket. "And when you wake up, you're going to finish those boots while I watch you. And no more bunny while you work."

"Big meanie," Peter pouted. But he closed his eyes and did not say anything else.

Hook left the room, thinking that he knew less about children than he had ever thought. He locked the door and then went in search of Smee. Telling him that Peter was taking a long nap, Hook instructed Smee to have the pirates clean up the blackening powder.

"Wash the bunny, too," Hook instructed, "and rinse off what you can of that infernal bunny. And have it done before I come back."

"You're leaving?" Smee glanced up, blinking behind his round spectacles.

"Yes," Hook said quietly. "I'm going to walk around the island and see where every has gone. The brat claims they have gone, but I want to see for myself. Who knows – they could have been playing Hide and Go Seek, and when he couldn't find them, he thought they had left him."

Sneering at Peter's possible stupidity, Hook got ready for his hike. Leaving his fancy coat behind, he started out from the ship in a white shirt and trouser, a dagger tucked into his belt with his pistol and a knife in his boots. He didn't expect to meet any of the Indians, and even if he did, he probably would not have problems with them. They tended to respect each other's property: the pirates got the sea while the Indians kept to the land, but the Indians let the pirates tour the island and Hook let the Indians paddle their canoes in the sea. Still, he liked to be armed at all time.

He began walking down a familiar path. By his estimation, the island was somewhere between two hundred and four hundred square miles. Hook would have liked a better idea of the land so he could create an accurate map, but he swore at times the island grew or shrunk at random, so he could never get a true layout. But most of the paths stayed the same except for a few which insisted on turning the wrong way just annoy him. Nothing could be worse than starting down a path that he knew turned towards the right to find it heading towards the left. And he had a feeling all the trees were raising their roots slightly and laughing at him when he almost tripped.

"Ruddy island," Hook hissed under his breath as he rounded an oak tree which had moved to the middle of the path sometime between now and last week.

Yet, the island felt different, trembling more than usual. And Hook walked for nearly an hour without finding anything. That itself was the oddest thing. Usually, he would see small woodland creatures or fairies dashing behind leaves or birds fluttering around. He saw nothing, including Lost Boys and Indians.

He decided to go all the way to Peter's hide-out in that huge tree. Hook couldn't remember how long ago he had found out about it. For a while, he had staked pirates on watch around that tree to catch the brat, but Peter managed to avoid him. The pirates had caught various children, but every time the story went the same way. The pirates would drag the children back to the ship, and Peter would come rescue them eventually. Sometimes, the brat showed up immediately and reeked havoc on the whip, cutting down sails and ropes and throwing mud on deck. Sometime, Peter had not shown up for days, even a week, and Hook found himself tending to whiny children who cried and begged for food and water and had tantrums while he waited for Peter to come claim them. After capturing a particularly noisy bunch of children who screamed for their parents for twenty-six straight hours, Hook made the rule of no more hostages on his ship.

Peter's tree was too small for him to get in – indeed, the individual passages made Hook slightly claustrophobic, they were so small and tight and dark. He had no desire to get caught in them, so he simply looped around the enormous tree, watching for some sign of life.

Nothing moved. No scurrying noise from underground, no flaps in the tree opening and shutting, no whispers or muffled laughs.

Hook began to feel slightly spooked. Something had changed.

He made his way back to his ship without any further searching. He had been gone about two hours, and he expected to hear Peter banging around in his bed cabin, but instead he found the boy blackening boots quietly under the watchful eyes of Smee.

Peter looked up rebelliously when Hook entered, but he kept scouring the boots. Hook saw the boy wore a new white shirt with a large piece of canvas pinned over the front of his shirt to catch any split powder. Minty slept in the basket, but clean again with slightly damp fur.

"Afternoon, Cap'n," Smee nodded. "A nice outing, didn't we have? This little boy got right to his work, yes, with Smee to watch."

"I don't want to do any more," Peter protested, glowering at Smee's patronizing tone. "When can I leave?"

Hook motioned towards the door, and Smee left, leaving the bunny behind.

"Leave?" Hook sat down in his captain's chair and lit a cigar. "You're not leaving."

Peter stood up defiantly. "I can leave if I want to!"

"You could try," Hook shrugged. "But I walked around the island and saw no one. What happened to all the other children? The animals? The fairies?"

Peter paled and his bottom lip trembled slightly, but he answered, "They'll come back. They really will. The new boys didn't want to come. I asked them, and they said they didn't believe in . . . you know. So I couldn't take them here with me."

Hook lowered his cigar and fixed Peter with a furious stare. "You give the children a choice before bringing them here?"

"Yes," Peter nodded."

"And you didn't give _me_ a choice?" Hook asked in a deadly quiet voice.

Peter thought for a second, his brow drawn down as he tried to remember back that far. "I had to give you a choice," he finally said. "You have to want to come here or it doesn't work. Yes, I had to ask you, but you were dancing all funny and yelling and singing, I think."

"I was drunk?" Hook leaned towards him. "You asked me one night when I was drunk?"

Peter considered it. "I don't know. I think I saw you dancing around, and I thought you were just a very big boy. So I asked, I think, and you said something like, 'Yes, take me away. Take my whole ship and crew, and get me away from this damned place.' Or something like that. So I took you, but then you weren't happy." Peter frowned. "You're supposed to be happy here. I waited and waited, but you didn't get happy. And now you're making me not happy."

Hook sat back in his chair. He was dimly aware that his cigar was still burning, but he could not think of smoking now. He had been asked if he wanted to come, and he said yes? Then that meant . . .

"Will you take me back?" Hook whispered tensely. "Back to earth?"

Peter scowled and shook his head. "No, you're my enemy, and I don't fly with enemies."

Hook felt angry, but he abandoned it. "Doesn't matter – you can't go anywhere without that ridiculous fairy who has chosen to leave you completely."

"Not true!" Peter protested, stomping his foot.

"Do not have another fit," Hook ordered. "You start choking, and I'll let you faint on the floor. Get back to work before I tan your hide for being such an nuisance."

Peter huffed and pouted, but eventually he settled back to work.

Hook let him stay up later that night since he had a nap, but after supper which Peter ate hungrily, Hook made him get ready for bed around eight. The boy looked tired, rubbing his eyes as he got into his nightshirt, washed his teeth with a rag, and headed for the crates.

Hook grabbed him before he could get into bed and sat down, flinging the boy over his lap.

"No!" Peter objected, "I didn't do anything wrong. I was good!"

"It's to remind to you to obey me," Hook said stoically. He brought his hand down on the boy's bottom, once, twice, thrice, and a final fourth time.

Peter whined, but he did not cry or fight Hook. "Not fair," he complained as Hook put him in bed and covered him up.

"I never intended to be fair," Hook told him. "Are you going to stay in bed, or do I need to tie you down?"

"I didn't get up from my nap until Smee told me to," Peter said crossly. "I'm good, and you're bad. All bad and mean."

"So I've been told," Hook noted. "Now shut up and go to sleep."

Peter sulked for about ten minutes until he fell asleep.

------

"What do you want to talk about?" Alivia asked as she stepped into Hook's cabin, her wings smaller but still shining.

"Whatever you like," Hook walked towards her, trying to ignore the small figure sleeping on the crates. "Do you remember our walks on the riverbanks?"

"Always," Alivia smiled gently. "We used to have grand discussions about art and philosophy and poetry. You wanted to read me _Paradise Lost_ – I wanted you to kiss me."

Hook lifted his eyes to her, surprised. "Really?"

"Of course," she said honestly. "You were standing there, so handsome in your new coat and breeches, and I kept thinking, 'Will he ever kiss me?' And then you did, and I could not breathe for the rest of the day."

"Can I ever kiss you again?" Hook asked.

She dropped her gaze and let it travel over to the sleeping boy.

Hook's eyes narrowed. "What do you see in him? He's just a little brat, nothing special. I loved you – I still love you. Me, not that whelp."

"Oh, Jamie," she sighed. "You could never understand. Fountains of beauty so close to you, but you never see them."

"Don't start talking about fountains," he snapped at her. "Talk about us, here, now, you and me – forever. I don't want anything else."

"But you do," she told him evenly. "You not only want more, you need more. More than I could ever give you. But you can't see that. You can't see how everything points in one direction towards what you need, aiming straight for everything you want."

"I give up," Hook raised his hands in despair. "I couldn't understand you then, and I don't now. I should just drown the boy, and be done with it.

Suddenly, she was right beside him. She grabbed his jaw in one hand, and he could feel the warmth in her fingers. "James," she looked straight in his eyes, "listen to me. Follow them wherever they go. Keep the child safe and follow them."

"What?" he breathed, unable to think clearly with her so close.

"Follow them," she said emphatically. Then she rose up and pressed her mouth into his.

Hook felt like he had melted. His hearing disappeared, and he closed his eyes as he lost himself in her kiss. Her soft lips against his, her hands on his face. He wanted to die, he wanted to live forever, he wanted her so badly - ecstatic, mad, passionate longing for her.

And then he woke up to the morning light.

Peter had sat up in bed and watched him carefully.

"Did a fairy come here last night?" the boy asked, tilting his head to the side in curiosity.

"Yes," Hook whispered, staring helplessly up at the wooden ceiling of his cabin.


	8. Chapter 8 Drowning Fear

AN: Finally another chapter - grad school is killing me.

Disclaimer: Do not own or make nay money.

Warnings: This chapter contains spanking of a child and intense fear of drowning. Just os you all know.

Enjoy!

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It struck Hook as he sat with Peter eating breakfast, that the boy had been with him far too long, much longer than Hook had ever expected. He had managed to catch the boy before, but usually he kept the brat for an hour or two before he escaped. Part of this was due to the laziness of the pirates who would hunt the boy with fierce viciousness one moment and allow him to leave the next. Now that Peter had been tucked away in the captain's quarters for several days, the pirates weren't sure what to make of it.

Another reason he had never held onto the boy was simply the fact that he did not realize the child's pain could bring Alivia back. And thirdly, Hook had never thought he could return to earth. Peter could because he flew, but Hook never imagined the child had brought him to the island so easily, just on the whim of the moment.

"Eat all your porridge," Hook ordered, noting Peter's picking at the mush in his bowl.

"Don't like it," Peter replied sulkily.

"I did not ask if you liked it," Hook replied caustically. "I said to eat it. Children should not complain about food."

Peter's head perked up. "Can we complain about other things then?"

"No."

Peter pouted before reaching for his spoon.

"And take that sulkily look off your face," Hook ordered. "Or I'll give you something to pout about."

"I want to go out," Peter insisted as he shoveled up a spoonful of porridge. "I want to leave these rooms. Can I play on the deck?"

"No, you'll run away," Hook told him, drinking some tea.

"Won't!" Peter declared. "I'm the greatest Peter Pan in the whole universe and I never lie." He threw his hands out for emphasis, but his right hand caught his milk cup and knocked it to the floor.

There wasn't much milk left in it – maybe a spoonful or two, but Peter tensed, raising nervous eyes to Hook.

"That's one," Hook held up the forefinger of his one hand. "You get one warning. The next time it will be –" he lifted up his hook threateningly.

"Sorry," Peter muttered, giving Hook a mean, rebellious gaze before ducking his head to eat the rest of the porridge.

"And you have lessons this morning," Hook pointed out.

"Aw," Peter gave his usual reply, looking very sorry for himself.

"I'll sit with you for a while," Hook promised. "Then you're going to do your letters again while I oversee my crew."

Hook planned to send his pirates out to explore more of the island in hopes he could figure out what was happening, but he saw no reason to let the boy know. Peter would be clamoring for more information, and the next thing Hook knew, the imp would try to lead the pirates all over the island, pretending to be the leader of his own band. And Hook was not about to share his pirates.

"I expect you to work hard at those lessons," Hook ordered. "No more playing about for you – you'll stick your schedule."

"But I never get to play," Peter groused as he finished up the porridge. "All work and writing – I want to play with Minty. She's mine, and she likes me and not you."

"Bunnies don't like anyone," Hook replied. He was not sure if that were true or not, but his words made that the brat's forehead crease in stubborn lines. Hook tried not to smile – Peter kept thinking that his pouting would made Hook relent, would make him feel bad, would make uncomfortable enough that he would do anything to stop the boy from pouting. Poor Peter – he really was such a stupid child.

"Wash your hands and off to your lessons," Hook commanded. "And maybe you can stay out of trouble until naptime."

"Not taking a nap," Peter grumbled under his breath, but he went to the other table and scooted up into the chair. He began to open his copying book, still muttering, "Don't need a nap. Only babies take nap. Am I a baby? No, I'm the wonderful Peter Pan. The wonderful Peter Pan doesn't take naps. Not going to fall asleep. Lay down 'cause I don't want to be spanked, but no nap for real, just pretend."

Hook wanted to chuckle at the boy's train of thought, but instead he settled for smirking coldly.

Hook locked Peter inside despite the boy's protests that he wouldn't leave, and Hook went to check on his pirates. He found them huddled in a group, whispering among themselves.

"What is this?" Hook demanded, raising his voice. "Mutinying again? It will be the cat for all of you, mark my words."

"No, sir," one pirate spoke up. "Not mutiny. We're just a bit antsy 'bout the wind, sir. Blowing all odd and suspicious like, trying to hurry and go when there's no where to be a'going."

Hook glanced up at the sails. They were all tied up, but the edges of the rigging were moving, swaying back and forth. Yet the water was still, no waves to be seen.

"Right creepy," another pirate shook his head. "Like somethin' dead scurrying around, waiting to drop down and eat us."

"It's a omen."

"It's a curse."

The whispers grew, the pirates shaking their heads and fretting about ill-natured signs.

"Enough!" Hook bellowed, smashing his hook down on the wooden railing. "I won't have you standing around gossiping like a bunch of old hags. This is an enchanted island – we're been here long enough to see odd things occur. When we first came here, you were terrified to see the mermaids and the strange creatures. Now, you think nothing of it."

The pirates agreed reluctantly, nodding and shifting around.

"But just in case," Hook continued, "I want a party of six men to explore the island today and bring me back news of anything usual. Any volunteers?"

Not a pirate raised his hand.

Hook added dryly, "All six of the party will get another ration of rum tonight."

Every hand shot into the air, a few pirates sticking up both hands. Hook named off six of them, and the chosen men grinned as they ambled to their bunks to arm themselves while the unchosen growled and kicked their feet about the deck.

"Could be dangerous, Cap'n," Smee shook his head making the tassel on his cap dance up and down in the air. "The island's never changed like this."

For a moment, Hook had an eerie feeling of doom, and all he could see was the dark, beautiful woman beside his bed with her wings fluttering as she glowed with resplendent light. Could she be the reason for the changes?

Hook blinked, clearing the thought from his head. Alivia couldn't be the cause – she couldn't. And even if she were, Hook didn't care. He would trade them all from the little brat up to his faithful Smee for one more day, one more hour, one more second of Alivia.

"Keep watch," Hook advised, glancing warily at the gray sky. "And report to me the moment they return."

Inside the cabin, Hook found one sulk brat drawing pictures of fairies rather than copying his words. Hook's shoes creaked on the floor as he approached the table, but Peter was far too involved with drawing little shoes on his faries to notice. Hook waited, standing over him while Peter kept doodling.

"There," Peter smiled. "Now they are have shoes so their feet would get wet. Happy little fairies, flying around."

Hook reached out and clamped a hand on the back of the boy's neck.

"Oh," Peter sighed, realizing he was caught. "No more fun for me."

"No more fun indeed," Hook said sternly. "Is drawing fairies part of your studies?"

"No," Peter admitted looking more miserable by the second. "But I like them."

"Well, they don't like you," Hook let go of the boy and ripped out the doodle page from the copybook.

"They do so!" Peter crossed his arms as he glared up at Hook.

"Then why did your fairy leave you?"

The moment the words left Hook's lips, he knew they were the wrong words to say. He hadn't really meant them; just one of the cold things he said without thinking, with his usual caustic flippancy.

Peter's eyes grew huge until Hook could see the white all the way around the green. "You take that back!" Peter ordered.

Hook was ready to relent and admit he had been too harsh, but he didn't take orders very well, and certainly not from arrogant brats. "I will not," Hook replied. "This is my ship and I may say whatever I chose. Besides I don't even believe in fairies."

The last bit was absurd as Hook had seen dozens of fairies about the island, but Peter turned pale. Hook feared that the child might faint or have another panic attack, but instead Peter jumped out of the chair and launched himself at Hook. Hook barely had time to step back before him found a boy barely taller than his elbow on him, punching, scratching, kicking, and biting.

With one swipe, Hook knew he could knock the boy to the floor or rip his stomach open with his hook, but instead Hook latched onto the brat's ear and thrust Peter back.

"Ow!" Peter howled at the pressure on his ear, and he clasped both hands over Hook's and tried to loosen the man's grip.

"That's enough," Hook ordered. "You might feel angry and upset with your little fairy leaving, but you will not hit me."

"I'll bite you!" Peter snarled, still trying to free his ear.

"No biting," Hook told him. "You don't fight me. This is your second warning, and believe me, there will not be a third."

"I want my fairy!" Peter cried out, his eyes brimming with tears. "I want Tinkerbell. You said you had her – give her back to me."

Taken aback, Hook was about to protest that he never said he had anything of the sort. Then he remembered that he had claimed to have the fairy to lure Peter into the cabin in the first place. Blasted brat – couldn't remember that he had cut off Hook's hand, but Hook lying, now that Peter remembered in perfect detail.

"I don't have her," Hook insisted. "I haven't seen her since I shot the two of your down from that tree."

"You shot her!" Peter gasped.

"No, I shot the tree," Hook said, his patience wearing thin. "You fell out and you sent her away so you could talk to me."

"Yes," Peter nodded reluctantly.

Hook let go of his ear, and Peter rubbed it, pouting from the ache. But the boy didn't move away, and Hook prodded,

"Did she go home with you?"

"Yes," Peter nodded, frowning in concentration. "We went back to the tree where we live, the big one – oh, no!" His head shot up and he stared in fear at Hook.

With tremendous effort, Hook kept from rolling his eyes. "Yes, I know where you live. I went there years ago when you had all those children here with you. I tried to poison your drink, though it wouldn't have worked because I've tried it on myself several times. Poison just make you ill for a few days here on the island. But your fairy drank it, and you thought she was dying."

"You poisoned Tink!" Peter accused.

"Years ago," Hook ground out between clenched teeth. "But a few days ago, you went home with her and then what happened?"

"We played in the fountain," Peter recalled. "And then she was tired, but I didn't want to sleep. I didn't sleep at all – just stayed up all night. But when I woke in the morning, she was gone."

Hook suppressed the urge to point out that Peter had to have slept if he woke up in the morning. But instead Hook said, "And you haven't seen her yet."

"No," Peter said miserably. "Why would she leave?"

There could be any number of reasons for the fairy leaving, Hook thought. They could have had an argument that Peter didn't remember. Or they might have been fighting, and the stupid brat didn't realize it at all so the fairy left in a huff. Or maybe fairies didn't live forever like people did on the island. Hook toyed with mentioning the possibility of fairies' mortality to Peter, but decided against it. Hook did not want another tantrum.

"My men are out looking for her," Hook said before he even realized what he was saying. "If they find her, I'll tell you. Now, you sit back down and attend your lessons before I put you over my knee."

"All right," Peter got back into the chair. "Sorry about the pictures."

It was the first time Hook had ever heard the boy apologize voluntarily for anything, and Hook couldn't think of anything to do but nod along.

The rest of the morning, Hook read some of his favorite books and Peter worked quietly. Every so often, one of the pirates would walk by the door, and Peter would look up expectantly. But no one knocked and Smee did not come, so Hook said nothing, not even to tell Peter to keep his attention on his work.

Hook was about ready to call for some lunch when he heard a commotion on the deck. Peter looked up eagerly, but Hook ignored him as he walked out of the cabin onto the upper deck.

Below the pirates were yelling and gesturing wildly, the six scouting men talking the loudest.

"What's all this noise?" Hook demanded, resting his hand on the banister of the deck.

"There's no one, Cap'n," a scouting pirate shouted back. "No Indians, no children, no one on the ruddy island!"

"Even the mermaids are gone," another pirate confirmed. "Couldn't see nigh one of them, not even in the Lagoon."

"What about the fairies?" a voice piped up by Hook's arm. Hook realized with irritation that he had forgotten to lock the door.

"Peter," he turned to the brat, "go back inside."

Peter blinked up at him in the light, but he continued to stand on the deck. "Where are the fairies?" he asked the pirates.

"Dead," one pirate replied. By the disturbed look on his face and his uneasy eyes, Hook knew the pirate wasn't lying.

"Some of them," another man confirmed. "Saw them lying on the ground like wasted rats, all crumpled and broken."

"Everything's dying," the first pirate declared.

Hook put his hand up to stop his men, but Peter sucked in a frenzied breath.

"You killed them!" the boy shouted at all the pirates. "You did it! Murderers!"

And then Peter ran to the side of the ship. Without even looking back, the boy stepped up on the wooden railing and jumped off.

"Blimey," one the pirates breathed. "There he went."

Hook heard the splash before he realized he himself was running to the side of the ship. Fifteen feet below, Peter was thrashing in the water.

The pirate all dashed to the edge and peered down. "Can he swim?" one asked.

"Of course he can," Hook snapped. "He's been here for years. He has to know how to swim."

"Don't look so," the pirate shook his head.

Hook stared down in dread as he saw the brat fighting to stay above water. How could the boy not know how to swim? Was it because the fairy wasn't with him?

Hook suddenly remembered seeing the sea creatures swimming along with Peter long ago. "The mermaids will save him."

"But Cap'n," a pirate said quietly, "there aren't any."

Hook glanced around frantically, and then he began twisting his hook off as fast as his sweaty hand could manage. As soon as it came free, Hook jumped up on the edge and dove into the water. The sea felt cold, nearly icy, but as soon as his head cleared the water, he began stroking towards the boy.

The stupid brat didn't even have the sense to grab onto the boat that floated only a few feet away. Hook had heard horror stories about drowning victims, how they were choking and disoriented and sometimes tried to fight off their rescuer. He approached Peter carefully, blinking the salt water out of his eyes to keep a steady eye on the boy.

"Peter, I'm here," Hook yelled, reaching out get the boy with his hand.

Peter kept thrashing, his limbs beating against the water as his head kept sinking.

"Stop struggling and hold onto me," Hook ordered in his sternest pirate voice.

Utterly terrified, Peter wrapped his arms around Hook, nearly bringing them both down into the frothy water with the intensity of his hug. Hook could hear his rasping breathing, could feel the boy's heart racing and his whole body jerking spasmodically as he clung with dying hope to his kidnapper.

"Don't let me sink!" Peter begged. "Don't let me go down. I'm scared – help me, help me – I'm going to go and not come up."

"Calm down," Hook instructed as he began to tread water in the direction of the ship. "They're going to throw a rope down to us and pull us up. Loosen your grip a little."

"No, you'll drown me!" Peter wailed, still clinging to Hook like a wretched monkey.

"If I wanted to drown you, I'd have left you alone in the water," Hook snapped.

He had reached the wet wood of the ship, and he felt a surge of pride for his crew when they threw down a lasso rope with a slipknot. They didn't need him yelling every single second to get things done.

"Let go of me and hold onto the ship," Hook said, reaching for the rope. He felt Peter shake his head against his shoulder, refusing to let go. "Peter, you must let go so I can loop the rope under your arms."

"I'm scared," Peter said, still quaking.

"I know, but I won't let you drown," Hook promised. "You see the ledge on side of the ship? You can hold onto that while I tied you up. Otherwise, we'll have to stay in the water."

Peter looked over at the ledge and then he reached trembling fingers for it. As quickly as he could work with one arm, Hook looped the rope under Peter's arms and around his torso. When he was dragged up, the rope would run against Peter's ribs, but Hook made sure it wouldn't slide up to slip free of his arms and tighten around Peter's neck. Then Hook tugged on the rope, and it tightened as the pirate onboard began hauling the boy up in the air.

Hook waited for a second rope to drop down. Once it came, he wrapped it around his maimed arm and held on with his good arm to walk up the side of the ship as they pulled him up.

A few moments later, Hook stood on the main deck of his ship, soaking wet. The sun peered around the edges of the clouds, warming the deck. Peter was equally as wet, still shaking from his scare. Hook took one look at him and felt angrier than ever. The stupid boy jumped off the ship and did not know how to swim? He could have died while they all watched, sure that he could swim, as the dark waters closed over his head. Right this minute, they could have been dragging his limp, blue body out of the sea, too late to save the idiotic child.

Hook didn't realize how scared he himself had been until now, and that only served to increase his wrath. He reached out and caught Peter's wrist. And then Hook pulled him over to a low barrel and took a seat. To the surprise of the crew and to Peter's own shock, Hook flung the wet urchin over his soaked-trouser knees. And then Hook brought his hand down on the boy's bottom.

His hand made an impressive _splat_ as it struck, and Peter sucked in a deep breath. The pirates grew very quiet as they drew near, ready to watch this new sequence of events.

Hook contented himself with spanking silently for a few seconds, the only sounds the wet smacks and Peter's growing distress.

"Ow!" the boy cried. "Ow! That hurts. I'm sorry – I didn't mean to get in the water. I thought I would fly! Oww!"

"You don't have the dust on you," Hook snapped, still holding the boy tight with his left arm and spanking with his right hand. "You can't fly. You don't get in the water if you can't swim – everyone knows that."

"I know!" Peter wailed, kicking his feet out as he squirmed helplessly.

Hook growled and pulled on the waistband of the boy's trousers. They were too big and slipping down to begin with, and now wet and heavy, they slid right down.

Peter gasped and flung his hand back to cover his bare bottom from the leering stares of the pirates, but Hook pushed his hands away.

"No one cares about your modesty here. You just keep thinking how you look right now, and how you'll behave in the future."

Hook brought his hand down a little harder, and the sound was louder as he smacked bare skin. Peter squalled, lifting his head to wail out his misery. The loudness of the spanking coupled with the fact it was on a bare, wet bottom probably scared him more than anything. Yet, Hook felt nothing but satisfied resolution, hoping the boy felt a little of the fear that had ran so deep through Hook's veins a few minutes ago. This would teach the boy not to put his own life in danger.

"You!"

_Smack!_

"Will!"

_Smack!_

"Not!"

_Smack!_

"Behave!"

_Smack!_

"So foolishly!"

_Smack, smack!_

"Again!"

_Smack, smack, smack!_

"I won't!" Peter cried. His finger clutched the barrel and the side of Hook's left leg as he clung on for dear life. "I won't do it again."

"You better not," Hook snarled. "Because if you do something like that again, I will spend a whole day spanking you every hour on the hour until you can't sit for a month." _Smack, smack! _"Am I understood?"

"Yes!" Peter hollered.

"Yes, sir," Hook corrected.

"Yes, sir," Peter amended hastily. "Yes, sir. I'll be good – I promise. I won't drown again."

"Naughty, disobedient, foolish little boy," Hook scolded fiercely, but he was feeling his temper receding. "You do what I tell you. Or else."

He gave the boy three more spanks, but they were half-hearted. Peter was crying openly, hot tears streaking down his cheeks as he lay limply over Hook's lap.

Hook realized he had a very attentive audience as all the pirates seemed to be holding their breath, afraid they might miss a single word of the scolding or smack of the spanking. Hook thought about ordering them to go below deck, but he didn't want to show the boy any favors, especially after the acrobatic feat Peter had done. Hook yanked up the boy's trousers over a very red bottom and pulled the boy off his lap.

He expected Peter pull away, maybe run away down the deck and have to be dragged back still crying. But the fear of drowning and sharp punishment had taken the fight right out of the boy, and he stood there sobbing and looking very pitifully. Peter looked around, seeing a circle of pirates inclosing him. Sneering, leering, cold faces gazed down at the boy, and Peter did not seem able to bear another second of it alone. To everyone's complete surprise, Peter turned back towards Hook and buried his face in the man's shoulder, wrapping his arms around Hook's neck. Peter kept crying, but he held tight against the man, longing for comfort, even from his tormentor.

Hook blinked, unsure of what to do. His first instinct was to thrust the boy backwards and order him to stop crying. But instead, Hook found himself drawing the boy in close. He held the shaking child with his maimed arm and stroked his damp curls with the other, saying softly, "All right, enough crying. You've been very naughty, but you needn't carry on like this. Now, this is really too much – the spanking's over and done with."

Peter's only response was to hug him tighter and cry out his fear and pain in Hook's arms.

The crew glanced at each other and then began to melt away. A little torture was fun to watch, and they loved to see the brat miserable, but all this mushy crying was too much for them.

"Back to your duties," Hook ordered.

He made to stand up, but Peter refused to let go, clinging to Hook as tightly as he had in the midst of the churning water.

"We're going into my cabin," Hook instructed. When Peter didn't budge, Hook held the boy against him and stood up, drawing Peter up with him. Peter reflectively held onto Hook's shoulder and wrapped his legs around Hook's body to keep from slipping down. As Hook carried him up the stairs to the cabin, he thought that boy was too old and almost too heavy for him to carry for very long. A boy that looked as old as Peter should have felt an embarrassed to be carried like toddler. Hook himself could remember not wanting to be carried by his nursemaid once he turned six, and he was glad when he got too heavy for her. But Peter seemed to have no such worries.

Hook got them into the bed cabin. By then he could feel Peter shivering violently from the cold and the shock, and he went to work stripping off the child's wet clothes after he pried Peter's hands from his shoulders.

"'M c'c'cold," Peter stammered as he clutched his thin arms to his torso.

"Of course, you're cold," Hook said as he reached for a clean rag and the boy's nightshirt. "You jumped into sea. Now hold still so I can dry you off and get you into bed to warm up."

Peter's teeth chattered as Hook dried him with the cloth and then slipped the soft nightshirt over his head. The boy's skin felt clammy, and though Hook felt certain no one could get dangerously ill on the island, he felt that a few hours in a dry bed would ward off any possibilities of a cold.

Peter made no protest when Hook drew back the covers; the boy crawled up on the crate bed and lay on the pillows, still trembling. Hook covered him up with the bedclothes and then added another blanket for further warmth.

A few last tears trickled down Peter's cheeks, but he looked absolutely exhausted. "Minty?" he whispered between quivering lips.

Hook growled softly under his breath, but he scooped the rabbit up from its new home (a hollow barrel filled with straw). He placed the soft animal beside Peter and waited for the boy to hold the bunny close before covering the two of them up again.

"Rest for a bit," Hook ordered. "When you wake up, you can have some food ad hot tea. And we're going to talk about what you may and may not do on my ship for the rest of your days here."

Peter made no protest. His eyes slid shut, and he began to breathe softly, Minty held tight in his stilled arms.


	9. Chapter 9 Darkness

So, many months too late, another chapter. I kind of have too many stories running all at once, but I still like this one because Hook is such a great Byronic hero and I have so much fun writing the relationship between him and Alivia. So this is short, but I'm already writing the next chapter and will post it soon.

Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not these characters and I don't make a sign piece of gold, either.

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As Peter slept, Hook paced around his bedroom. He felt unnerved more than ever, as if he understood the true nature of fear and how it crept over him like black mist. The island had started to change. Somehow, the island was dying.

Hook felt his palm grow sweaty, and he gripped his right hand around his hook tightly. An awful thought had just presented itself to him – so terrible he could barely make himself keep standing. What if the island did die? What if the island died, but they all kept living? What if all the animals and the creatures from mermaids to fairies died? The trees rotted and the bushes wilted and the plants dried up, and they were left on a huge, barren island? What if the food finally ran out, and the sea dried, and they were left with nothing? Just a handful of men stranded on mud, left to wander hungry and thirsty for eternity?

Hook paled as he thought about. He glanced to the sleeping boy on the crates with the bunny held snug in his arms. Hook had known for a long time that Peter's spirit was drawn to the island. The island could sense the little boy's feelings – what if, like Alivia, it knew Peter was unhappy, and it began to die in sympathy?

Hook took a deep breath. No dream was worth the island dying, even a dream with his love – he could not endure eternity on a bare island with his men. They would end up killing each other just to escape the torture.

He knew what he had to do – he knew it more than he had known anything before.

He stooped and gathered Peter and bunny up in his arms, holding a blanket to cover both of them.

Peter lifted his head drowsily. "What?" he murmured. "Still tired . . ."

"Hush," Hook told him softly. "Lay your head back down and rest."

Peter flopped his head down on Hook's shoulder, one hand wrapping around Hook's collar to hold on. Peter's other hand held the bunny between them. Both the bunny and the boy seemed to fall asleep again, and Hook carried them both to the door.

His pirates were on deck, talking and joking, but they sobered up when they saw Hook carrying their new prisoner towards the gangplank. No pirate looked brave enough to ask their captain what was he was doing, but Smee finally stepped up and venture, "Sir?"

"Shh," Hook warned. "Don't wake him."

"But Cap'n," Smee whispered, "if I just knew exactly what you planned to do –"

"I'm saving this island," Hook hissed. "It's dying, and maybe it's because he's here. I'm letting him go."

One pirate made a move to say something angry, but Hook demanded, "Do you want this place to die and us to keep living? He goes back."

Understanding began to dawn across their stupid faces, and Hook went down the gangplank without further interruptions. He could feel Peter snuggle against him, the boy's breathing long and deep, perfectly at peace.

He carried the sleeping bundle onto the shore and into the woods on a wide path. Peter began to feel heavy, but Hook carried him several minutes before he found a small clearing covered in soft grass. He gently laid Peter on the grass, trying not to wake him. Peter shifted and made a face as if he were about to start fussing. Hook kept his hand on the boy's chest, rubbing his torso to soothe him into a deep sleep.

The clearing felt eerily silent without the twitter of birds or the scurry of woodland animals. The wind blew a little, moving the leaves, but the soft rustle only added to the creepy quiet.

Once certain the boy was fast asleep, Hook stood and crept out of the clearing. He nearly ran back to his ship, and he ordered his crew to hoist anchor so they could sail around to another part of the island.

Hook kept himself busy with overseeing his men who looked relieved that their captain was taking actions against the island. The pirates got the sails up, and by the time the sun began to sick, they were far from their original post.

Hook felt a little guilty at just leaving Peter alone in the woods, but he reckoned that the boy would survive. Peter had lived on the island for years – he would find food where it came from and eventually he would find new fairies, and that was the end of that. Hook's quarters felt rather empty after spending some many days with his little guest/prisoner.

He gathered up all the papers Peter had work on – big, oddly-shaped letters spelling out babyish words – and Hook stuffed them into a drawer. He lingered over the drawings of fairies a second or two longer, but eventually he jammed them into the drawer along with the others. He shoved the crates to the side in his bedchamber, planning to order Smee to move them in the morning.

Hook ate his supper in silence, hating how quiet his cabin seemed without any whining or arguing or sulky looks over the food. He had liver and tripe, and he could only imagine Peter's face if the boy were forced to chew down the meat. The boy would have refused, and Hook would have snatched him up, spanked him hard, and then plopped Peter back in his seat with an order to finish the food or take another trip over Hook's knee. And so there would have been even more sulking with sniffing and mean looks over the supper table.

Ha, Hook grabbed his wine glass with a sneer, who needed children anyway? They only served to disrupt his life, his orderly schedule and his daily – well, whatever he found to do everyday on the island. Torturing the boy had been a nice diversion for a while, but it was time to get back to work. He had better things to do than bully a brat.

Despite having so much to do, Hook took his time over supper and then went to bed shortly after ten. As he stretched out his maimed arm, twisting it back and forth to get rid of the soreness from the metal contraption, he thought he heard a noise outside. From the inky blackness around the ship, he would have sworn he heard an animal wailing and keening from the shore. So the animals were back – Hook growled and the shut the window, locking out all sounds.

He threw himself back on his bed, not expecting to sleep much or have any dreams worth enjoying. He had gotten rid of the boy – he had closed out the possibility of seeing Alivia again. He missed her so bad – he ached for her with a desperate sort of longing.

He reached to rub a hand across his eyes, and he froze when he realized he had run his left hand over his face. He stared at the fingers of that hand before he glanced around the room.

Alivia stood by the door, still bright and shining, but her wings had grown smaller.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, agitated and upset.

"Nothing, I was sleeping," Hook stood up.

"Sleeping!" she exclaimed as if it were the most ridiculous thing she had ever heard. "Sleeping? You stupid man, go out there!"

"Go out where?" Hook said, bewildered.

"Out there!" she pointed towards the door. "Don't you hear him? He's crying – he's miserable. You left him all alone. How could you? How could you leave him alone in the woods by himself?"

"I let him go free," Hook insisted. "I took him and that absurd bunny into the woods, and I left them. That way the island will stop dying, and the creatures will come back, and everything will go back to the way it was. Believe me, I had no satisfaction with the way it was before, but I don't plan for the island to die and I continue to live, along with my crew. So I set him free."

"He's miserable!" Alivia cried. "He can't fly, he has no fairy or other children – he's all alone in the darkness, sobbing. Go get him!"

"I will not be ordered around," Hook declared. "This is my ship, and I decide who comes aboard and who sits on the shore."

"You listen to me," her eyes flashed as she stepped closer. "You go out and get him, or I swear you will never see me again. I meant it, James – this is your last chance."

Hook went to the window and opened it. He could see nothing – no stars shone or moonlight lit the sea. But from the direction of the shore, he could hear someone crying. A long, low moaning, punctuated with gasps for air before resuming the sobs.

Hook growled as he reached for his coat. "It's the middle of the night," he complained though he had no exact idea of the time. "How will this look to my crew? Their captain waking just to bring some urchin back on board?"

She said nothing, holding her ground and not budging an inch.

"The gangplank isn't even out," Hook argued as he shrugged into his coat. "I'll have to pull it out myself."

"Have you forgotten how?" she demanded. "When you courted me, I remember you boasted that you knew every task onboard ship and could do it better and faster than your crew, that you were the highest order of captain because you knew more about the way of a ship then they do. Is that no longer true?"

"How was it that you were never beaten?" Hook muttered as he pulled on his boots with his one hand. "You never showed me such a mouth before."

"You never acted like such an idiot before," she snapped.

"I swear, you best be grateful," Hook told her. "Any other women – I would never let speak to me that way."

"No other woman would endure you!" Alivia replied.

"Very well," Hook stood, dressed and ready to go. "I'll go out and bring that brat back. But I warn you, I'll spank him once I get him back for carrying on so when I am trying to sleep."

"Just bring him back," Alivia said. "He'll be tired. Let him sleep, and try to go ten seconds without bullying him."

"Meddlesome woman," Hook growled. But he stopped beside her. "I want a kiss before I go."

She moved towards him, fitting against him as if they belonged together. She took her lovely hands and held his face before crushing her mouth against his. He savored the kiss, the taste of her, the feel of her hands on his face and neck.

Aggressively, he grabbed her and dug his fingers of his right hand into her long dark hair. He could feel the curves of her body, the softness of her lips, the flutter of wings against his arms. Hook kept kissing her, willing the moment to go on and on. He wanted her – he wanted her in his bed, her naked body against his, her ragged breathing in ecstasy for him.

She pulled back, her lips red from kissing him so hard. "Go," she whispered. "Go, Jamie, and I promise I will come back."

Hook nodded. He got outside on the upper deck, before he realized that he no longer had his left hand. He blinked and turned around, but his cabin was empty. Somewhere, his dream had merged with his waking, and now he stood on deck in his coat, boots, and breeches with one hand.

"Sir," a voice called out softly.

He turned to see Smee holding a small lantern.

"Ye heard him, too," Smee said in a hushed voice. "Little one's being there crying since nightfall. Took the liberty of putting out the gangplank, sir. Can't have him crying all night – not good for the island. We could cut out his tongue, though. Hard to cry without a tongue, Cap'n."

"No, I'll go get him," Hook reached his hand out for the lantern. "You wait here."

"Aye, aye," Smee stepped back. He pushed his spectacles up on his round nose and peered into the darkness. "Been watching, and island's getting worse, sir. Now, it's mighty dark out there – like the bowels of hell."

"I'm sure hell is lit with fire," Hook took the lantern and started for the gangplank.

The sand fell soft under his boots, but Hook held up the lantern trying to see up the beach. He could only see sand and rocks, but he kept on towards the sound of crying until he made out a crouched figure on the sand.

Peter was curled in a ball, holding the bunny tight and crying freely. He clutched the blanket around him, but it was ripped and tattered with loose leaves scattered over it. He saw the light and lifted a dirty, tear-stained face towards it.

Seeing Hook, the boy gave a sob of relief and jumped up with the bunny. Leaving the blanket behind, Peter dashed over the sand until he reached Hook. He looked ready to hug Hook, but Hook quickly looped the handle of the lantern over his maimed arm so he could grab the boy before he got too close.

"What is the meaning of this?" Hook demand sternly, giving Peter a shake. "I let you go like you wanted, and I find you crying in the middle of the night. I'm here to tell you to stop, and then I'm going back to my ship alone."

Peter burst into fresh tears and began shaking his head frantically.

"What you don't like it?" Hook frowned. "I seem to remember a little boy who tried to jump off my ship because he didn't like staying with the pirate captain. So I let you go."

"No, no, no," Peter nearly choked on his own sobs. "Don't want to. No one – can't find anyone – let me stay."

"Let you stay?" Hook pretended to look amazed at such a preposterous idea. "Let such a naughty, disobedient boy stay after he had behaved so atrociously?"

Peter probably didn't know what "atrociously" meant, but he nodded anxiously. "Yes, I'll be good. No running away. Minty and I will stay with you, and do our writing and take naps and no arguing."

"A likely story," Hook scoffed. "Why should I take you back? You the great Peter Pan? You are king of this island – you should stay and enjoy it all by yourself."

"No," Peter begged. "Please let me come – I'll be good, gooder than ever, the goodest boy ever."

"Hmm," Hook drew the torture out, wondering how long he could get the brat to plead and cry. "I suppose I could let you stay for the night, provided you do exactly what I say without complaint."

"Yes, yes," Peter agreed hastily.

"Well, then come along," Hook took hold of the back of his neck and turned him towards the ship. "We'll get you cleaned up and in bed, and I better hear not a single word of whining."

They made it back to the ship, and Hook marched Peter up the gangplank. Smee was waiting, peering through his glasses with that childlike interest at both of them.

"Smee," Hook took Minty from Peter's hand, "take this animal and clean him up before returning him to my cabin. I'll be dealing with this naughty one."

Hook got Peter into his wash cabin, washed him up with a rag, and dressed him in the oversized nightshirt. The whole time, Peter said nothing, but he kept edging near Hook long after his tears had dried. Hook figured only ten to twelve hours had passed since he saw the boy, but apparently that was too many for the child. Hook could see that Peter barely resisted the urge to grab onto his right hand when Hook took him back into the bedchamber.

As was his nightly custom, he sat down on his bed and pulled Peter over his knees.

"Oh!" Peter sighed, but he said nothing else.

"Nothing pleases you," Hook declared. "You want to leave, you want to stay. Fickle-minded child."

He smacked the small bottom four times as was the custom, but Hook made his wallops extra hard to show the boy that he did not appreciate his indecisiveness. When he stood him up again, Peter looked exhausted and could barely keep his eyes open, yawning and rubbing his red eyes.

Hook glanced over at the crates, but they had shifted apart and without the blanket, it wasn't much use as a bed.

"Up in the big bed," Hook ordered.

Peter looked up. "Your bed?"

"Just for tonight," Hook decided. "It's late, and I'm tired too. You stay on your side, or I'll make you sleep on the floor."

Peter hastily climbed up on the bed, wiggling his body back and forth to get up. He drooped limply down onto the pillow, curling up on his side with a content whimper. Hook pulled the bedclothes up over him, wanting to keep lecturing him. But he couldn't think of anything else to say, and he doubted the boy would hear him even if Hook shook him awake. The brat's breathing had already evened out, and he looked as if an earthquake couldn't move him.

Hook took off his coat and boots, but he pulled a loose white shirt over his head to sleep in. It hung down around his breeches, but he got into the other side of the bed and covered himself up. He had just closed his eyes when he felt something beside him move. He opened his eyes, irritated.

In the dim glow of the candle on the bed stand, Hook could see that the boy had squirmed over to rest his head against Hook's right arm. Hook pushed him back, rolling the boy over to his side. Peter did not wake, and Hook moved back to his side of the bed.

Two seconds later, Peter had rolled back and cuddled against Hook's side. Hook raised his hand to beat the boy back to the other side of his bed, but hesitated.

The burning wick of the candle droped into the hot wax, and the bedchamber went dark.

Hook snarled, but he lay back, closed his eyes, and tried to ignore the bundle of trouble snuggled against him. The boy would sleep in his own bed after that, Hook decided, right before he went to sleep himself.


	10. Chapter 10 Fountains

AN: Got another chapter up. Definitely some interesting stuff in this one I think.

Hope you enjoy, and please tell me what you think about the story thus far.

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The moment he opened his eyes, Hook knew that the world had changed.

His bed cabin was filled with morning light, bright and white. Snuggled against him, clinging to his arm, Peter still slept. The little boy's dark blond curls framed his face, his lashes resting against his soft cheeks in perfect contentment. It was enough to make Hook sneer in disgust, lest he let himself get soft and sentimental.

He moved, ready shove the child off the bed or grab him by the hair to shake him awake. But from the corner of his eye, he saw something bright, dazzling. He turned, and for a second he would have sworn he saw Alivia. He blinked, and only sunlight shone in the corner, but she had been there, in all her radiating, nearly-painful beauty.

Yet, something was in the air – he could feel it, smell it, breathe it. Like the tingling of excitement, anticipation of a kiss, waiting, buzzing, warning him something would happen.

Hook pulled away from the boy and got out of bed.

Peter whined in his sleep, his arms reaching out even though his eyes stayed closed.

"Quiet," Hook ordered, though not loud enough to wake him.

Peter slumped back into one pillow, continuing to sleep.

A crashing noise began outside, sounding like wood splintering and rocks thudded on sand. Dressing hastily, but once again neglecting his hook, Hook dashed outside to the upper deck. The sight there froze his blood, terrifying him to no end.

Just past the beach on land, the trees were falling. Already, huge trunks lay over the shore, branches and leaves covering the sand. And Hook could see the standing trees swaying violently in the wind, and half a dozen were crashing down as he watched.

His crew stood in a tight bunch, silent and fearful as they watched the destruction on the island. Hook felt sure he was dreaming; he could not be seeing the trees falling, the island caving in on itself.

It was not stopping – the crashing went on and on and on . . .

Hook whirled around and marched back into his cabin, all the way into the bed cabin where he grabbed Peter by the front of his nightshirt.

"Oh!" the boy's opened his eyes as he was being dragged out of bed. "What? What? No . . . tired."

"You're about to get the paddling of your life," Hook snarled as he marched the boy into the next room.

"What!" Peter squeaked. "But I wasn't bad. I was sleeping!"

Hook pulled him out the door onto the sun-bathed deck. Peter yanked against his hand, obviously not wanting to face the crew in his nightshirt, but the boy halted when he saw the trees.

"You see?" Hook released the boy to point to the island. "It's dying. Stop it. Stop it right now."

"Me stop it?" Peter's bottom lip began to tremble. "You stop it! Don't let them fall. Put them back up."

"I mean it, Peter," Hook warned. "If you don't stop the island from dying, I'll take my belt to your bottom, and you'll wish you had minded me."

"The island's dying?" tears filled Peter's eyes and spilled down his cheeks. "You – you killed it. You killed it."

The crew had turned to watch both of them with silent and condemning eyes. Hook braced himself; he knew the danger of a crew suspecting a Jonas onboard, one person singled out to blame all their trouble upon. If they thought the Jonas was their captain, Hook knew he could handle them, beat them down, thrash them into obedience. If they thought it was Peter, Hook would have a real fight on his hands, trying to control his crew while protecting the boy.

Peter was whimpering, a sad noise of distress as he watched the angry pirates and the tumbling trees..

"I will deal with this one here," Hook announced in a loud voice to his crew. "And I will stop it."

He shoved Peter towards the door, kicking him in the rear to make him hurry. Peter tripped over the doorstop and tried to crawl out of the way as his sobs grew louder.

"I'll beat the evil out of him," Hook snarled to his crew. "No one disturb me for the next hour."

"Stripe the brat proper," one pirate shouted.

"Bruise him head to foot," another encouraged.

Hook stormed into the cabin and slammed the door.

Peter had backed away, his face frozen in absolutely terror as Hook stalked towards him.

"You stupid boy," Hook growled. "You are surrounded by pirates ready for blood, driven by their own fears. If you want to stay alive, you have to do what I say."

With his one hand, Hook grabbed the back of the boy's nightshirt and hauled him backwards as Hook sat down. Peter went into a panic as Hook pulled him towards his lap, trying to squirm free. He calmed the moment Hook hoisted him up on his lap, face up, in a sitting position.

"Now you just listen to me," Hook sat sternly, feeling the boy's heart hammering through his chest. "Something is happening out there. I thought it was about you – if I let you go free, everything would return to its original state with the animals and the fairies and the Indians coming back. Now I see that this state of affairs has nothing to do with you. The island is dying, and I have to stop it."

"But –" Peter started to protest, but Hook tightened his arm the least bit.

"Sit quietly," Hook ordered. "I'm about to go to the shore and see what has happened. You're going to stay here in the cabin, quietly, and wait for me to come back."

"No, don't leave me," Peter shook his head.

"Peter," Hook warned in a deep voice.

"I'm coming with you," the boy insisted.

"Peter, you are staying here."

"No!"

"You are staying here. Now, you can be a good boy and take your bunny and climb up on my bed and spend a nice morning in bed, playing with the bunny and resting until I come back. I know you're tired from your late night out and need more sleep. Or you can fight me, and you can spend the morning crying in bed because you know by now what I do to disobedient boys."

"Meanie," Peter reached over to hit Hook's knee.

"Enough of that," Hook gave him a rough shake. "Make your choice. Quickly, too."

When Peter didn't respond, Hook tried to help him make the right choice. "If you want the latter, tell me now as I need time to spank you for a long, long time . . ."

"Be a good boy," Peter whimpered. He slid off Hook's lap and went to get his bunny.

Hook felt a small satisfaction as the boy climbed back in the bed, holding the bunny tight as he sunk into the pillows. Peter was starting to do as he was told and was not pouting quite as much. Hook was about to suggest that he could brush Minty's fur, but Peter was already yawning.

"Don't get out of bed," Hook warned. "I'm going to lock you in. No one should bother you, but if they do, you pretend to be asleep."

"Come back," Peter said softly.

Hook nodded and went to strap his hook on. He went back into the bed chamber to remind Peter to stay in bed and stay quiet. The boy was pouting, but he looked exhausted, minutes away from falling asleep. Hook locked the door to the bedchamber, testing the door twice before he strode away.

When he stepped onto the deck, the pirates looked at him expectantly.

"Well," Hook said smugly, "didn't take an hour to break him. Children are so gullible, so easily manipulated. He told me what we need to do."

A buzz of curiosity rose from the pirate, and Hook took advantage of their talking to rack his brains for a plan. He was about to say something to distract them, maybe get them to think the island was attacking them and they needed to arm themselves to go fight the trees. Suddenly, something sounded by his ear, like a tiny bell tinkling. He looked to left and stepped back when he saw a gold-sprinkled flying creature. At first, he thought it was a fairy, but then he realized it was a mutated creature with four legs and four arms, huge winds, and a face like a mouse.

Hook wanted to smash it, to swat furiously at it, but as he watched it, it split right into two, becoming two flying creatures, each with two arms and two legs.

They made an odd metallic noise, like bells, but Hook would have sworn he heard the words "Follow us."

He was ready to hit the things back when he remembered her words. Alivia with her hand on his face, her eyes blazing – "_Follow them wherever they go._"

"I'll come," Hook told the creatures in the whisper. He doubted the crew could see them; some of the pirates were looking right at him and didn't seem to notice anything different.

"All right," he bellowed to the crew below. "I'm going ashore, and I'm taking control of this island. We will conquer this place once and for all. The brat is in my cabin – leave him there. We may need him later to – to sacrifice to the island. Wait here for me."

To the cheers of the pirates, Hook went to the main deck and walked to the gangplank which was still out from the night before. Before him lay a shore of ruin, covered in the fallen trees, but Hook followed the buzzing creatures which flew before him.

He had no idea how he would get the past the fallen trees, but as the creatures flew forward, the trees began to shift. They parted slightly to make a walkway, branches lifting or scraping to the side to allow foot or two of space for him to walk, but closing the space once he walked past. Inward he walked, cutting through the trees. Hook had the fleeting thought if the flying things left him, he would be trapped in all the tree trunks, branches, and leaves. But he kept up with the creatures, and the trees kept moving for them.

The farther in they walked, not all the trees had fallen. The huge oaks were leaning on each other as if for support, but Hook could see the rotting trunks under green moss that was turning a sickly shade of black. The sky loomed over them, but instead of a bright blue, it had faded to a dull gray.

On and on, Hook walked, past familiar sights that had changed. He passed a clearing where he had fought the Indian chief one cool day, both using two clubs, nearly killing each other until they decided to go home and nurse their bruises, living to fight another day. Rocks had circled the clearing, but now the trees covered the whole area. Next he saw the spot where another path crossed over, the pole of the marker sticking up from the branches, with the arrows still pointed to Mermaid Lagoon and the Indian grounds.

Hook felt something welling up inside him, a desperate longing to change the island back to the way it had been, to return to the idle hours of drinking, smoking, and complaining, content then in the knowledge that nothing would ever change. Fear, like a dark stalking monster, kept crawling closer and closer. Hook knew it was his pride, his fierce, resilient pride, that kept him from breaking into hysterical screaming and running for his life in a panic.

He forced himself to keep putting one booted foot in front of another, walking stiffly like man condemned but steadfast to the end. Even if this were the end, he resolved not to go begging or whimpering, but with a stoic face.

After what seemed like an hour, the creatures finally stopped at the base of an enormous gnarled tree. It took Hook a moment to recognize Hangman's Tree with its holes for children to slide down and peer out of, its high branches perfect for climbing. The flying creatures stopped and turned towards Hook.

"I can't fit in there," he said quite frankly. "I've tried before – I get stuck halfway, even in the biggest tunnel. They're for children, not me."

The creatures came at him. Hook thought they meant to hurt him, and he backed up immediately, ready to swat them away. But once he stepped back a few paces, the ground began to shake. He stumbled to the side, ready to run or simply hold on to anything for balance.

The huge tree shook violently, and then it split right in two. Spewing pieces of bark, a large crack ran up the entire length of the trunk.

Hook started back in fear, afraid the trunk might crush him, but the fallen trees behind him pushed right back, a solid wall of brush and leaves. But the trunk broke apart without hitting him. When both sides of the trunk hit the ground, the earth shook so hard Hook fell to his knees, catching himself on his hand and the curve of his hook.

He expected to see the living space below the tree, an underground hollow large enough for a dozen children to live and romp. Yet, before he could catch sight of any space, boulders began breaking through the ground. Hook watched breathlessly as the rock grew higher and higher – ten feet, twenty, thirty – until they dwarfed him and hid half the gray sky.

The rock stopped growing abruptly, and for a moment, the world went silent except for Hook's harsh breathing.

A cracking noise sounded from the rocks. Hook looked up – up, up, up – to the top of the high rocks. Cracks were spidering at the very top, shooting horizontally across the boulders.

Water suddenly spurted of the rocks, spraying from the cracks. The boulders quickly turned dark with water, and the cracks grew bigger and bigger as water poured out. Soon Hook found himself staring at a waterfall, nearly fifty feet long and thirty feet high.

He looked around for the flying creatures, but they were gone.

The water pooled at the bottom of water fall, but rather than flood all the ground, it stayed in a small pond-like area. Flowers began to bloom alongside the water, bright splashes of red, blue, and yellow.

Hook reached down to touch a flower, and the waterfall began to divide. An opening in the rock appeared, a dark space between the roaring water. Hook looked at it and knew he was supposed to walk through it.

He thought about refusing, simply standing his ground and staying right where he was. But he could see no way out of the fallen trees other than going straight forward.

He stepped over the flowers and into the pool of water. As he strode forward, the water came up to the edge of his high boots, but it didn't flood the boots. Though he thought the ground under the pool would be loose, ready to suck him down, he could feel rock underneath his feet.

Once to the waterfall, Hook eyed the dark space between the tumbling sheets of water. He had the awful image of himself going into the crevice and the rock closing together, crushing him in between –

Hook bared his teeth in the same snarl that had made him such a fierce pirate for so many years. He pushed himself into the narrow, wet passage, silently daring the rock to move.

The walls stayed still, but Hook could barely see as he pushed forward, groping his one hand on the cold, damp stone. He found himself swallowed in utter darkness. Blackness, deeper than he had ever known, pushed against him, and he fought panic off as he kept moving. He cursed himself for not bringing a lantern – if he could just see a single ray of light, a way of knowing that he wasn't lost forever in darkness, wasn't already dead.

The next step he took landed on nothing, and he fell through the air. Before he even had time to realize that he was falling, he tumbled into foot of water.

But this water was lit from underneath with white crystals that made the water glow. Lifting his head, Hook gazed up at a huge cave, lit by crystals.

Across the rocky floor of the cave, small fountains of water bubbled up, reflecting the light in dancing patterns on the cave walls. Hook stood and began to walk around, turning to take it all in.

At the center of the cave, a fountain pushed water straight up into the air and collected the falling water inside a circular wall two feet tall. The outside of the wall had vines growing upon it, pulsing with life and blooming flowers over and over again.

Hook approached this main fountain warily. Unlike the other small fountains, the water of this one seemed silvery, catching the light as it rose and fell. He was close enough to see his reflection inside the vine-covered wall. He leaned over, but before he could see anything, the main strap of the contraption holding his hook broke.

He felt the contraption start to slide off, his hook not longer anchored against his stump.

Hastily, Hook ripped off his coat and shirt to allow the metal device to fall off. It splashed to the wet floor of the cave and lay there, an ugly twisting of metal and leather in a place so pure and holy.

Free of his hook, with his torso and arms bared, Hook turned back to the main fountain. He didn't know why but he knew he had to feel that water, to let it run over his skin, to sense its beauty and vitality.

"Fountains of joy," he whispered Alivia's words.

And then he put both his maimed arm and his right arm deep into the gushing water of the fountain.

For a moment, he felt nothing but the cold water sweeping over his skin. It grew colder and colder, like ice, but still he kept his arms in there. Somehow, he knew he had to withstand the water, to prove himself worthy.

Just when he thought he could bear the ice no longer, the water grew warmer. Warmer, warmer, hotter, until it felt like bathing water. He prayed it would not grow boiling hot, but it suddenly turned cool again. Something nipped at his fingers, and Hook drew out his arms instinctively.

The fingers of his right hand were red, but he froze as he looked down his left arm. The ugly scar of his stump was gone. The skin of his lower arm ran smooth and clean, all the way down to a hand that glistened with the silvery water.

Hook held up his left hand, staring at the four fingers and the thumb, staring at the skin over bone that rose and fell as it outlined his entire hand.

Was he dreaming? Did he actually have his left hand back?

Hook reached down and cupped up two handfuls of water. He let the water fall through his fingers, running in rivets down the back of his hands.

He was not dreaming. He had his hand back.

He had found the fountain. Exactly which fountain he was not certain. The fountain of youth? Fountain of life? Perhaps even redemption? All possibilities that he could not answer for certain.

He wanted to laugh, to yell, to fall into the water, to scream that he was alive, now and forever.

At that moment, he heard the ticking. The steady, rhythmic ticking that grew louder and louder.

Whirling around, he found it standing a mere six feet from him.

A brute of a beast, covered in dark scales, standing upon four clawed legs, its mean eyes glittering, and sharp teeth shining.

Hook faced the crocodile.


	11. Chapter 11 Ever After

Disclaimer: I do not own.

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Hook took a step back, his eyes on the enormous crocodile, the gleaming eyes, the glistening teeth that protruded between the scaly lips, the claws that gripped the wet rock beneath its trunk-like legs.

Hook knew he should be frightened, panic-stricken by the beast that had eaten his hand, that had terrorized him so long, driven him half-mad by the incessant ticking. But Hook curled the fingers of his new hand into a fist; he was not running this time. This time, he would fight.

The crocodile rushed forward, opening its huge jaw to reveal rows of jagged teeth, and Hook moved. Stooping down to grab his contraption, Hook dove behind the fountain. His new hand felt strong but unused to moving, and he struggled to twist his hook free of the contraption. The moment the iron hook came loose, he grabbed the straight end of it and jumped out to face the lumbering beast.

He wished he had brought a gun or a dragger – how stupid to arm himself with only a hook. The crocodile was huge, at least eight feet long and probably twice Hook's weight. He swiped the hook through the air, giving a vicious cry to show the beast that he was armed and deadly.

The crocodile snapped at Hook's leg, lunching forward and closing his teeth. Hook yanked back his leg, but the brute's teeth caught on his trousers, yanking the fabric back and toppling Hook to the hard ground below. Hook jerked his scratched leg free but the animal was already on him, its teeth tearing at his shirt, worrying towards his throat.

With his new hand, Hook tried to shove the croc's snout up as his other hand tried to turn the hook to hack at the animal. It felt like he was pushing against a rock, an unmovable rock that would rip him to pieces, but Hook shoved hard and then he brought the hook down, right into the center the great snout.

The hook sank down several inches, and Hook yanked it up, tearing off a huge chuck of crocodile flesh.

The beast gave a terrible roar and lunged for him again.

Hook rolled over on the ground and slashed with the hook, this time tearing the side of the animal.

For the next few awful moments, they battled against each other, man and beast, locked in some sort of terrible primitive struggle. Hook had his sharp weapon, but the crocodile had rows of teeth – Hook could stand on two legs and move faster, but the croc had move weight and strength. The whole time they fought, the ticking clock counted down the minutes, the seconds towards the end for one of them.

Hook knew that only one of them was leaving the cave of fountains, and the other would die in bloody heap on the stone floor.

He got another swipe at the side of the croc, almost the soft underbelly, but he was not fast enough to pull back, and the beast bit into his arm. Hook swore at the pain as he stumbled back, clutching his wounded arm in its bloodied rags to his chest.

The croc's eyes gleamed and it came for his legs, but Hook leapt up in the air, twisted, and plunged the hook into the beast's head, right behind its eyes.

The animal thrashed, but Hook kept hacking. In blind rage, screaming at the top of his lungs, Hook jumped on the back of the crocodile and began tearing it to pieces. His right hand used the hook while he ripped strips of flesh away with his left.

Blood spurted everywhere, covering his hands, the writhing beast, Hook's clothes, the stone floor.

Hook knew his eyes had turned red, changed from their light blue to a deep crimson to mirror his rage and paint his world in shade of fire. He kept fighting the crocodile, refusing to die, refusing to give up. He was master here, he was the one who would live, he was lord and king and God of this damned island, and he would never fear the beast again.

Suddenly, he realized the crocodile had stopped moving. It lay completely still under him, a huge mount of broken flesh.

Hook blinked, and his world returned to its normal color. He was not sure exactly what he should do, but he slowly rose to his feet, moving off the dead animal.

The clock was still ticking, that infernal noise that went on and on and on. Tightening his grip around the hook, Hook began tearing into the beast, reaching for its stomach. The ticking grew louder, and Hook thrust his new hand into the animal and grappled for the clock. He finally felt it, cold metal inside a still warm beast.

Ripping it out, Hook flung the ticking clock on the stone floor. Raising the hook high, he brought it down on the clock, smashing the clock face. Again he struck it, and again, and again until the ticking died and the clock lay in pieces.

Rising shakily to his feet, Hook stumbled towards the main fountain. His body ached, blood oozing from the wounds on his arm and leg. He reached the fountain and sank his bleeding arm into the bubbling water. Immediately, he felt his arm heal, the pain disappear. He scooped up a handful of water and splashed it on his injured leg. Once healed, he glanced around the cave, wondering how he would get out.

"Jamie."

He heard the words whisper through the cave, rustling with the water.

He whirled around, but saw no one.

"Jamie," the voice whispered again, and he knew it was her.

A bucket suddenly rolled to his feet, clattering over the rocky floor. Hook hesitated before picking it up, but it was a normal wooden bucket with a curved handle. He turned it around in his two hands, but he could nothing odd about it.

He glanced back to the spot where he had slaughtered the crocodile, but the beast had disappeared. Hook could see no sign of the broken clock or his hook or even his contraption. They had quietly disappeared.

Hook did only thing that made any sense to him at the moment. He dipped the bucket into the gushing water, filling it almost to the top.

A cracking noise filled the air, and Hook watch as part of the cave wall began to break in half. He held the bucket as still as he could as the wall continued to divide in half. Beyond the dark rock, Hook could see the shore spreading out beyond the cave.

Quickly, but careful not to spill a single drop of the precious water, Hook started for the beach. The moment he stepped past the cave onto the sand, he turned around to watch the cave close.

The stone closed together and then sunk into the ground, erasing all signs of the cave of fountains. Hook did not stop to think; he started towards the sea and immediately he saw his ship waiting for him.

The pirates were on board and when they saw him, they cheered, but a hush fell over the deck as they caught sight of his new hand.

"Blimey," one whispered, "he's made a deal with the devil to get it back."

"Cursed, cursed," another shook his head.

Hook glanced back to the shore – the fallen trees lay scattered about, a few still standing.

"Cap'n?" Smee hovered at his side, ready to take the bucket, but Hook would not let it go.

"The island is dying," Hook announced. He saw the horror, the terror on their face, but Hook promised, "I'm going to save us. I just killed the crocodile, cut him to pieces. There is nothing I can't do. I have Peter Pan as my captive, I have my hand back, and I'm now king of this island."

A moment of silent, and then all the pirate cheered, shouting out their loyalty to their captain. Hook grinned and then strode towards him cabin, shouting,

"Rum for every man! Drink until you can hold no more!"

Chaos broke out on the desk as all the pirates dashed for the galley. Hook went to his cabin, unlocking the door and going straight to his bedchamber.

Peter was still in bed, playing with the bunny. He was holding up Minty's silky ears and making them dance up and down when he saw Hook.

"You're back!" Peter leapt up, standing on the bed. "And you got your hand back. Two hands now, two whole hands. Hooray!"

Peter flung his own hands up and bounced on the bed in celebration.

"Sit down," Hook ordered, setting the bucket of water down in a corner.

"I want to see your hand," Peter jumped up off the bed and ran to Hook's side. He grabbed the man's left hand, turned it back and forth. "It's a real hand!"

"Of course, it is," Hook replied gruffly, trying to keep the smile off his face. "Stupid boy, not knowing a hand when you see one."

"What's in the bucket?" Peter glanced towards the corner. "Did you bring me a surprise?"

He took a step forward, but Hook grabbed him with both hands, picking the boy up in the air and dragging him back. It was so much easier without a hooked hand, and he had no trouble in swinging the boy over his right shoulder and landing a loud smack on the boy's bottom with his left hand.

"Ow!" Peter squirmed. "That new hand hurts."

"Yes, I now have two hands to spank you," Hook growled as he carried Peter back to the bed. Hook sat down on the edge and dropped Peter to stand between his knees so he could look the boy right in eye. "Listen to me. You do not touch that bucket. It you do, you will be in trouble. Very, very big trouble."

A stubborn frown pushed Peter's mouth down. "What if Minty touches the bucket?" he asked.

"Then I will drop the bunny in the sea and paddle you still."

Peter looked rebellious, but Hook kept his stern look, staring the boy down. Peter finally broke, unable to take the harsh look, and he whispered,

"All right. No touching the bucket."

"Good boy," Hook nodded.

Peter impulsively reached out and put his arms around Hook's neck, hugging the man as a little sob caught in his throat. Hook knew he had been harsh, and he allowed the boy to hug him, even patting Peter on the back twice, before drawing back and telling the boy to get dressed.

By evening the pirates were all sopping drunk, Peter was tired of staying in the cabin, and the bucket of water was thankfully untouched. After supper, Hook made movement to fix the crates for Peter's bed, and the boy protested,

"I want to sleep in the big bed with you."

"Not tonight," Hook announced as he made the bed on the crates. "Tonight – I need my own bed. You'll sleep here. But I'll stay with you until you fall asleep."

Peter huffed and complained, but when it became clear that Hook was not relenting, Peter crawled onto the crate with his bunny and let Hook cover him up. Having a captive audience, Peter refused to drift off right away. He jabbered about Minty for while and how special his bunny was before moving on to his fairy and his hideout and his adventures, all which were the best in the whole wide world.

Hook half-listened to him, nodding along in hopes that Peter would get tired and fall asleep. Hook could not look away from his bed, the flat space so soft and inviting. He wanted to lie there . . . with her.

"Did you hear that?" Peter protested. "I just told you what I did."

"Good boy," Hook said absentmindedly, reaching over to pat those golden curls once in approval.

"No," Peter shook his head, "I was bad. I called you a mean name when you were gone."

"Oh, then bad," Hook decided, not really caring. Then he remembered, "Oh I almost forgot." He pulled the covers back and gave Peter his regular four solid swats, but this time with his new hand.

"I thought we wouldn't have to do that tonight," Peter pouted once Hook covered him back up.

"Then why did you tell me you had been naughty?" Hook demanded, frustrated.

"I don't know," Peter yawned. "I just had to. Tell me a story."

"No," Hook snarled, "go to sleep."

"A story!" Peter demanded. "One story, just one."

"Fine," Hook frowned, wanting the child to go to sleep. "Once upon a time there was a horrid little boy who got kidnapped by the world's worst pirate and the little boy was miserable for the rest of his life. The end."

"That's not a story," Peter protested. "Tell a real story. The mother girls used to tell me stories."

"Do I look like a mother girl?" Hook put on his fiercest scowl. "I don't know any stories."

"Not one?" Peter's eyes widened. "Did your mother never tell you any stories?"

"No," Hook said hastily, though his mother had.

"So sad," Peter's mouth went down at the corners. "But don't cry – I'll tell you a story."

Hook made a low growling noise, but Peter ignored it.

"Once upon a time, there was a girl who had to work all day for her stepmother and evil sisters and she never got to play."

Peter went on, telling the story of Cinderella. He got some of the details mixed up, saying it was a silver shoe instead of a glass slipper and that a fairy dog-mother came to send the heroine to the ball. But Hook did not interrupt, hoping the story would finish quicker without any corrections.

Peter finally ended with "And they all lived happily ever after."

"Good, I was worried for a moment," Hook sneered. "Go to sleep."

Telling the story seemed to have worn Peter out and he yawned loudly as his eyes closed. Hook blew out half the candles and got ready for bed.

The fingers of his new hand became more and more nimble as he used them, and he barely had any difficulty in unbuttoning his shirt. In only his breeches, he lifted the bucket and went out to the moonlit deck. All the pirates were below deck, drinking – Hook could hear them cheering as they kept pouring the rum.

Moving slowly, Hook dipped one hand into the bucket and began sprinkling the water over the deck. When he had covered the whole deck, he took the empty bucket back to his bedchamber. Peter was fast asleep, but Alivia was waiting for him beside the crates.

Hook went right to her, but before he could kiss her, she put her hand up. "Are you going to keep him?" she asked.

"What?" Hook hesitated.

"After tonight, are you going to keep him?" Alivia asked calmly. "I need to know that he will be safe – no matter where you go, who you see, what you do, you must keep him safe."

"Why? Why is he so important to you?" Hook's voice was quiet, almost solemn.

"Because," Alivia looked down at the slumbering boy, "because he's mine."

Hook took a step towards her. Alivia looked up, her eyes shining with tears.

"He's my child, James. My boy, my baby, and he left me."

Hook said nothing, but somehow he knew, he had always known Alivia was Peter's mother.

"He disappeared," Alivia covered her mouth as tears spilled down her cheeks. "My husband searched everywhere, but I – I nearly went mad. I kept the windows open, the windows to his nursery. I kept thinking I heard my baby, saw him fluttering at the window. But one night, I was so angry at him for leaving me, and I closed the nursery windows."

"And you never saw him again," Hook realized.

"Not until one night, when I heard him crying, crying out of the darkness. And then I came to you."

Hook crossed his arms, shifting slightly before he questioned, "On earth, are – are you dead?"

"Yes," Alivia nodded.

"And here?" Hook's voice was hoarse. "Here, are you alive?"

"For tonight I am," Alivia stepped towards him. "Tonight, Jamie, tonight I belong to you. For tonight, we live happily ever after."

Hook did not even stop to think – he went to her and kissed her, putting both hands through her long dark hair. She moaned into his mouth, and Hook picked her up, ravaging her mouth with his as he carried her to his bed. Her wings had disappeared entirely, and as soon as Hook laid her down, he began unfastening her dress with both hands.

Moments later, he was in the bed with her, their limbs tangled together in ecstasy.

Unbeknownst to Hook, the ship slowly lifted out of the water. The pirates celebrated below deck, Peter slept on the crate, and Hook finally made love to Alivia. The ship kept rising towards to moon, away from the dying island.


	12. Epilogue

Disclaimer: I do not own.

--

Hook stared up at the dark ceiling, completely still except when he lifted his new hand to brush it over Alivia's dark locks.

"You're still awake," she whispered. "I thought you would be tired, you handsome, virile man. Such a cad, too – my husband would never have been so liberal with me."

Hook smiled, pulling her close, loving the feel of her body against his. "Don't mention your husband to me," he told her, but he couldn't help but feel the bliss that ran throughout his veins. Too many years without a woman – oh, she was so beautiful there beside him.

He leaned over and kissed her warmly.

"Jamie, you have no shame!" she protested between kisses. "We cannot be together again."

"Says who?" Hook growled as he began nuzzling at the base of her neck. When she lifted her hands to grab his shoulders and held on in desperate passion, he grinned and kept kissing her throat.

Fifteen minutes later, they broke apart, panting for breath.

"This is no good," Alivia gasped.

"What?" Hook demanded, but she shook her head quickly.

"No, I mean, I need to talk to you and I can't if you keep . . . doing that."

"Talk," Hook ordered.

"Everything is about to change," Alivia told him. "When you wake, you will have left the island forever."

"Where am I going?" Hook felt his throat tighten in fear.

"Back to earth."

"Finally," Hook gave a breath of relief.

"But it will not be the world you know," Alivia went on, her blue eyes serious. "Too much time has passed. But I promise you, I will see that you receive help."

"You will be there?" Hook asked eagerly.

She shook her head, her eyes sad. "No, this will be the last time you see me."

"I won't lose you," Hook grabbed her bare shoulder. "I'll fight for you."

"No, you won't see me, but I will always be with you," she promised. "I'll see that you have everything you need, and I promise I will try to let you be happy."

"Not without you," he claimed, feeling rage rising inside him. "I want you, Alivia. You, only you – here with me."

"No, Jamie, my time is up. You must go on without me. And the last thing I ever ask you is to take care of my baby."

She glanced towards the crate where Peter was curled on his side, clutching his bunny as he slept. "He has lost everything. His friends, his island, his fairy."

"What happened to them?"

"No pretend world can last forever. This island was a world between worlds, a place where the fountain of life watered freely and no one ever aged. But it could not last because it is born of purity and childhood innocence. Children are no longer innocent. My baby could not get other children to come to Neverland with him. Once the children stopped, the Indians left, the mermaids swam away, the fairies died. His own fairy withered to pieces like ashes."

Hook felt pain press at his heart, the idea of all those creatures leaving and the island decaying.

"You would have died, too," Alivia continued, "except that you sprinkled the water over the ship. Right now, we are flying in the air."

Hook sat up in the bed, wanting to go outside and see, but Alivia grabbed his hand.

"No, stay with me. As long as you keep looking at me, I can be here with you."

"Don't leave," Hook pulled close to her, running both his hands through her long hair. "Stay with me. Please Alivia – I've only loved you, you forever, you, beautiful you."

She leaned her head against his bare chest, listening to the beating of his heart. "I will always love you, Jamie. As long as you have my child, you have a part of me. He loves you, Jamie, even if he doesn't know it. He came to you in pain and you kept him safe – he will trust you no matter where you go. And as he begins to grow up, you must take care of him."

Hook tightened his grip around her as tears filled his eyes. He could feel her slipping away already.

"You will be his father. Promise me you'll act like his father. I don't care if you're stern, I don't care if you dislike him at times, you must take care of him. If you ever loved me, do this for me."

"I will," Hook nodded, blinking away the tears. "I'll stay with him. He's all I will have left of you."

She lifted her head up, her eyes meeting his. She was beginning to glow again, and he could see the wings forming from her back.

"I love you," she looked straight in his eyes. "I will always, always love you."

She wrapped her arms against him, her bare chest against his. "I promise," she whispered, "I will never really leave you."

Hook nodded, holding her like a man dying.

"Close your eyes," she whispered. "Fall asleep with me here. Hold me, love me, and go to sleep."

Hook obediently closed his eyes and he felt her growing warmer, his hands almost feeling the brightness.

When he opened his eyes, brightness engulfed his world. Shading his eyes, he sat up.

He was sitting on green grass with the sun shining all around him.

Hook stood up slowly and looked around. He was in a small field of some sort, but he could see houses across a wide gray strip of a walk. People were milling around him, odd looking people.

At first, he though they were all men because they wore trousers, but upon closer examination, Hook was shocked to realized that some of them were women. Women in trousers! Had he ventured to the brothel section of a town where women wore risqué clothing to entice men to sample their wares?

But he had made it back to earth. Hook felt elation rush over him, and he wanted to cry for joy but he did not want to attract attention. People were already giving him odd, distrustful looks.

"Hey, cool pirate outfit," a boy yelled out.

Hook turned and jumped back as the boy sped by on a piece of board, floating along the walk. A moment later, Hook realized the board had some kind of wheels under it, but it still was shocking to see the boy move so fast.

"You in a play, man?" someone else spoke, this person a young man with odd chains around his neck. "Or you just score so really good dope?"

"I am – unsure of what you say," Hook stammered. He felt relieved that he was wearing clothes – last night in bed he removed his clothes before joining Alivia. But he was just in his captain clothes with no sword or pistol for protection.

"Yeah, he's on something good," the young man laughed to his friends who also looked strange.

Hook frowned. "You should watch yourself. I have never lost a duel."

But the young men were already gone.

Hook glanced around. There was no sign of his ship or his crew or a little boy and a bunny. Where had Peter gotten himself to?

Growling, Hook started towards the buildings.

A loud noise blared at him as he put his foot on the gray walk. He jumped back just in time as a shiny metal box came rushing past him. Hook felt his heart rate spike as he stared after the box. Another one came from the opposite direction, this one a different color. And then there were more and more boxes, zooming past him at frightening speeds.

After watching for a moment in terror, Hook saw people inside, people looking much too calm considering they were inside speeding death boxes. However, Hook finally decided that the boxes were some sort of carriages without horses. He feared that they might be pulled by invisible horses, but then the boxes stopped so close to each other that Hook knew there could not be horses between them. But if not horses, what made the boxes move?

"I know, and so I was like no, and he was like yeah, and I was like moron," a young woman in trousers and bare arms was walking towards Hook, talking rapidly.

Hook tried to understand what she was saying, but she wasn't even looking at him. She had a black thing pressed to her ear and she was jabbering away to someone that Hook could not see. She passed right by him, still talking to no one.

A whirling noise sounded overheard. Hook looked up, and he nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw a huge dark bug flying overhead. The bug was made of metal – the sun was glinting off it. And it had some kind of huge spinning circle over it, but Hook knew that it had to be as big as he was, a huge monster of a bug.

Panicking, Hook whirled around.

He was here on earth, back to where he belonged.

But something horrible had happened on earth, changing it so much that he barely recognized it anymore.

"Dear Lord," Hook whispered. "Alivia, where have you taken me?"

The End

--

AN: This is the end of the story. I hope you have enjoyed the ride. I've enjoyed all your reviews, comments, and suggestions.

Thank you for reviewing.

Oh, and yes, there will be a sequel.


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